


The Prisoner and The Cure

by PaintedGhostOrchid



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Infection, Love/Hate, Romance, Sexual Content, Survival, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGhostOrchid/pseuds/PaintedGhostOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The US has been transformed into a barren, post-apocalyptic wasteland after a viral outbreak leaves society in shambles. But Clarke Griffin is a girl on a mission to her mother's research facility to deliver the only-known cure- if only she can avoid the free-roaming criminals who are determined to kill her, led by one particularly terrifying (and handsome) escaped prisoner who will stop at nothing to get what he wants..</p><p>AU- Loads of Bellarke tension, human survival, the occasional zombie (but not much), jealousy, and romance..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that's been churning in my head for awhile and I had an absolute blast writing this..hope you guys like it!  
> I wanna make this dark, gritty, sexy...all that good stuff!
> 
> PS- Leave me comments....it will help me decide whether or not I should continue the story :)

The occasional gust of hot, sticky wind served as a welcome change from the grueling sun, even if it churned up the dust in her eyes and etched brown stains into her skin and hair as she walked.

Clarke shaded her face with her hand, blocking the sun’s rays from searing into her eyeballs. The temperatures had reached 95 degrees by noon, and the blazing heat was radiating off the train tracks that stretched in front of her- distorting them as the hot air rose to eye-level.

 _Inferior Mirage_ \- she reminded herself.  She knew that the heat’s ability to alter her vision field was nothing more than the air rapidly rising and cooling, the constant mixing causing vibrations that made everything appear wavy on the horizon.

“The miracle of refraction…” She chuckled aloud, for no one else’s ears but her own. Clarke had been doing that a lot lately, just saying things out loud rather than thinking them in her own mind. She told herself she was merely testing her voice to ensure that it was still capable of producing sound, because she sometimes went weeks- one time even months- without coming across a single living soul to speak to.

Non-living souls? Sure- she came across _plenty_ of them. But they weren't all that much for conversation.

And thank God for these train tracks that guided her. She could safely walk down the middle of their rotting wooden planks for days, knowing that a train would never again be passing through this bare, desolate corner of Louisiana.

The dust billowing in the distance was fading just enough for her to catch sight of a small town just ahead on her right. Her hand ghosted over the handle of her 18 inch machete blade that hung from the belt loop of her shorts- she knew as she approached areas like these that run-ins with other humans- other survivors- was far more likely.

Since the virus had first spread over a year ago, most of the US population had been wiped out in a matter of months, transforming over two-thirds of its citizens into gruesome-blood thirsty creatures with white eyes and rotting flesh. “Zombies” some people called them- but Clarke knew better. She was a graduate student studying bio-physiology at the local University when the virus first broke out in Washington, and her mother had been commissioned by the US government as one of the researchers to lead a team of scientists toward finding a cure. The virus traveled through infected saliva bitten directly into the bloodstream, and whatever had caused it- it seemed to target the military and government officials first. Once Washington DC was destroyed- leveled into a veritable ghost town- the rest of the country quickly fell prey to the infection. But what was even worse than the so-called “zombies,” were the few humans themselves who remained- usually because they had resorted to violence-and possibly even cannibalism, to survive.

But there were good people out there too, people like Clarke who found one reason to survive and clung to it so desperately that they somehow blocked out the pain and the horror that surrounded them. And Clarke definitely had her one reason, and that reason was exactly why she was trekking through this barren strip in Louisiana, heading to find the only person she knew who was still alive- Her mother.

But had this perilous trip only been for the love of family, she may have given up months ago. Except what Clarke carried with her was something so powerful, so precious, that it had the potential to save humanity as they knew it-

_Clarke had the cure._

A cure that only she could deliver since it consisted of a genetic mutation in her own blood, and she was the only known person to possess it. And unless Clarke could survive long enough to make it to her mother’s research facility buried deep in Louisiana, then the hope of mankind was lost.

All of this proposed a unique dilemma for her, the fact that her body could help create a vaccine against the virus actually made her a target for those who didn't wish for a return to normalcy. While many survivors might throw down their lives to save Clarke’s, nearly just as many would rather see her dead. After the infection spread, it became clear that certain groups of people craved the ensuing chaos and freedom from law in this new world- much more than they feared the virus itself. They wanted to be able to run wild without the threat of an organized society or class system hanging over their heads, and they were just as happy to let the good survivors suffer and die off to let it happen.

For all these reasons..Clarke usually traveled alone and flew under the radar as much as possible, never really knowing who she could trust.

 

Clarke stepped off the tracks, making her way into the small, abandoned town with the tiniest shred of hope that she could find a grocery store that hadn't been completely ransacked. She usually steered clear of places like this- but the fierce rumble of her stomach was reminding her that she hadn't eaten in days.

The small town was probably quaint once. Little brick-front stores and cobbled roads all lent it that cozy down-south feel. If it wasn't for the shattered windows, vandalized cars, and the rotting stench of bodies- this place would have been really quite adorable.

A store about half-way down the main street boasted a sign reading “General Store.” Clarke’s mouth watered as she headed straight for it, keeping her eyes peeled and her senses heightened for any movement around her- living or dead. Once inside, she found rows and aisles of toppled shelves and boxes of food ripped open and scattered about. Clarke sighed as she realized that almost anything that wasn't badly expired had already been cleared out- until the glint of a can caught her attention from beneath an overturned shelf. She ran forward, her hunger driving her strength as she angled her shoulder against the shelf and shoved it up right, revealing several cans of tuna and fruit laying underneath.

Clarke- momentarily forgetting her surroundings- dropped to her knees and shrugged off her back pack, excitedly scooping the cans inside. She whipped out her machete and hovered it above the last can- ready to slice it open for immediate nourishment- when suddenly a footstep landed behind her.

Clarke acted on instinct, swiveling on her feet and bringing the glistening curve of her blade up to the intruder’s throat- stopping only centimeters away.

The man threw his hands up in surrender, his eyes blown wide with terror. Clarke registered that there were two of them now, the first appearing to be of Asian descent, the other one tall and gangly with goggles on his head. Both of them were slight in stature, both with dark brown hair and pale faces that were badly burnt by the sun. Neither of them looked like they belonged here.

“Please don’t kill me!” The first one begged, his eyes falling on the blade. “We’re here to help you!”

Clarke made no move to lower the machete. “Help me? Tell me how.” Her voice was calm, and somehow much colder than she remembered.

“I’m..my name’s Monty. And this is Jasper-“ The tall one behind him gulped and waved nervously. “Your mother sent us here to find you.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, her gaze darting between them as she tightened the blade around his neck. “And how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Monty gasped, his words coming out quickly-  “Your mother is Abigail Griffin- lead scientist at the Ark Research Facility. We both work with her..”

Clarke shook her head. “Not enough. You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

The tall one- Jasper- stepped forward, eyeing the blade carefully as he extended his arm, turning his hand and revealing a small, rounded locket in the center of his palm. “She wanted us to give you this necklace. So you’d know you can trust us.”

Clarke’s gaze fell on the locket, the one her father had given her before he died. As an engineer in DC, her father was one of the first victims of the virus- and Clarke was the one forced to kill him once he had turned.

Her chest tightened, the pain suffocating her for a brief second as the memories washed over her. She lowered the blade and reached for the locket, looping it around her neck and snapping the clasp in place.

Monty and Jasper both deflated, looking visibly relieved as Clarke secured her blade back around her hip.  

“Okay then.  Have either of you had experience with fighting the infected?”

They both nodded, Jasper’s giant lips curling into a smirk. “ _Obviously_ we can fight Clarke, that’s why they chose _us_ to be the ones to protect you.”

Monty rolled his eyes. “Not to mention all the other lab interns were _dead_.”

Jasper jabbed Monty with his elbow, his face flushing with embarrassment.

Clarke studied the two young men, realizing that they were roughly around her age. She had to admit she wasn't impressed with either of them, but since they were both sent by her mother, she would likely have to trust her judgment on this one.

“Do you have food?” Clarke asked, knowing that the few cans she managed to grab weren't going to be enough to sustain three people.

Monty smiled proudly and nodded his head towards their backpacks. “We have military-grade rations. They should last us the week or so it will take us to reach the facility.”

Clarke's stomach rumbled again. She wanted to dive on them, rip open every last ration pack and shovel the food into her mouth until her stomach exploded. But instead, she only licked her lips and swallowed the hunger back inside, giving them both a firm nod. “Good.”

Monty peered over her shoulder, his breath faltering as his eyes landed on something in the distance. Then the sound of shattering windows pierced their ears, followed by a chorus of deep voices that roared and hollered like a pack of wild animals.

“Fuck..we have to get out here… _now_.” Monty turned to grab their packs, but Clarke’s hand was already reaching for her blade as she heard the sounds getting closer. “We passed those assholes on the way in here, we barely got by without them seeing us.”

“More people? “ Clarke blinked, she was just getting over the shock of being in the same breathing space as _these_ two, and the idea of suddenly being in the presence of an entire group of people made her muscles go rigid and her knuckles tighten their grip on her machete.

Jasper grabbed her shoulders, his wide eyes frantic as they tried to impress upon her the gravity of the situation.  “Clarke- we are 20 miles east of a maximum security prison that was overthrown 6 months ago. There’s only a handful of the inmates that survived, and by the sounds of it, it looks like they just found us...”

Clarke stiffened; she knew exactly what that meant. Criminals definitely fell into the category of people most likely to benefit from the freedom and lawless society that the virus had created, and if they found out that she was the cure…they would _absolutely_ try to kill her.

“We need a way out.” She glanced behind her to see the small group of men making their way down the main street, giant clubs in their hands as they bashed in storefront windows and crushed in car windshields, cackling like hyenas.

Clarke lowered her voice to a whisper, nodding towards the back of the store. “This way.”

The three of them hunched over and sprinted towards the back, each of them clutching their respective weapons as they slowly pushed open the fire exit door. Jasper peeked his head out first and scanned the area.

“Coast is clear.” He whispered, and they moved quickly as they darted along the backside of the buildings. Clarke was fairly confident the prisoners were still heading in the opposite direction, so she hoped they could easily slip back onto the tracks without being seen.

But just as they were finally reaching the edge of the town,  Jasper’s feet suddenly screeched to a halt as Monty and Clarke practically slammed into him from behind.

“Jasper! What the...”

But Monty choked on his words as all three of them froze. They looked up to see the gang of prisoners hovering directly in front of them now, blocking their path to the tracks. Two of the inmates stood in front, each of them with wide, maniacal grins and beady eyes that combed over them like vultures, their soiled tank-tops revealing arms that were painted with splatters of blood and tattoos. The one on the right stepped forward first- his smooth features were eerie with wide-set eyes and brown hair tucked neatly behind his ears. 

“Well..well..well...what exactly do we have _here_?” His voice came out like the hiss of a snake, and the sound of it curled the hairs at the back of Clarke’s neck.

Jasper and Monty were too stunned for words, their fear obviously getting the better of them as they made no attempt at a reply. Clarke sighed and stepped forward, wielding her machete at her side.

“Listen, We don’t want any trouble, we’re just trying to get back on the tracks so we can be on our way.”

“What? Leaving so soon..?” The other guy closed in now, his shiny bald head and brash, threatening tone giving him the classic prisoner vibe. “We haven’t even gotten a chance to introduce ourselves... I’m _Miller_ , and that’s _Murphy_.” The creepy one gave a curt nod, then the two men stepped aside to reveal a third prisoner standing behind them.

This new one was taller than the other two, his tan and impressively sculpted body was leaning casually against a light post, his dark eyes watching them from underneath a mop of messy black curls. Clarke nearly shuddered under his calculating gaze, which seemed to be fixed entirely on her, almost as if Monty and Jasper didn't even exist.

Murphy jutted his thumb at the new guy- “And _this_ is Bellamy.”

Clarke had been surviving on her own long enough to be able to peg a group's leader when she saw one- and this Bellamy guy was definitely in charge. She decided it would be smartest to appeal to him directly, especially once she noticed the strap around his shoulder that hinted at an AK-47 slung around his back.

“Bellamy- If this is your territory then we respect that and we apologize if we crossed any lines by coming here. We’re just passing through, we weren't aware that this place was still inhabited.”

Bellamy straightened up, shifting his legs into an arduous stance as he crossed his arms.  “It’s not inhabited. We’re just passing through as well...” His voice was thunderous and deep, nearly producing it’s own echo that vibrated through their ears. “In fact- we happen to be looking for something, maybe you can help us.”

Clarke’s fingers subconsciously tightened around her machete as Murphy and Miller took several steps forward, keeping her eyes on Bellamy as he pulled his AK-47 out from behind his back. Jasper and Monty were inching closer to Clarke now- though she wasn't sure if it was out of protection or cowardice.

“Oh my God, we’re gonna die..” Monty whispered. _Definitely cowardice._

“We have nothing you could want.” Clarke replied, her voice staying as even as possible.

“Well then you’ll have _nothing_ to worry about, will you?” Murphy hissed. “But I'm going to have to ask you to remove your clothes.”

“ _Excuse_ me!?” Clarke hissed, flashing her machete just in time for Bellamy to point his massive gun at them, causing her arm to fall helplessly to the side.

“Relax..” Miller chimed in, “We just need to check your skin for a mark. A sort of.. _branding_.”

There was a tiny flicker of horror in Clarke’s eyes as they met Bellamy’s, and he read her fears just as easily as if they'd been plastered across her forehead. He cleared his throat and cocked his gun at her. “Strip her.” He ordered.

 

With that- Clarke knew she was done for. She dropped her machete as Jasper and Monty were forced to step off to the sides, their heads bowing.

Clarke steeled herself against the feeling of Murphy and Miller’s hands tugging at her white tank top and ripping it over her head, then unbuttoning her jean shorts and yanking them down to her ankles. Her heart was pounding as she stood before them in only her bra and underwear,  praying that somehow she would be saved from what she knew was coming next. Murphy’s hands groped over her, his calloused, grimy fingers dragging perversely across her soft flesh. All the while Clarke glared up at Bellamy, his stoic gaze not flinching for even a second as his jaw tensed into a fierce expression of dominance.

This person obviously had no soul.

Murphy scraped his fingers mercilessly along her stomach and waist, circling towards her back as he suddenly halted right behind her.Clarke squeezed her eyes shut as she heard Murphy belt out “Bingo!” In a deplorable, cringe-worthy cheer. Bellamy instantly jumped forward, shoving his gun into Miller’s hands and ordering them back. Clarke gritted her teeth as the prisoners' leader sauntered up to her, his face becoming more and more vivid as he approached the half-naked blonde.

Her fearless blue eyes examined him, much the way he was now examining her. She noticed the way his chin rolled into a smooth cleft, his jaw and his cheekbones alarmingly proportionate to the straight bridge of his nose and the intensity of his dark eyes. Still- she was caught off guard by two things- the way his freckles softened his otherwise sharp features, and the fact that he was unpredictably, almost _devastatingly_ handsome.

Bellamy reached up to brush his thumb along her cheek, Clarke tensing beneath his touch as he brought his face level with hers. “Are you _lying_ to me Princess?" He warned. "Because I’m thinking you may have what I’m looking for after all...” His hand hovered over her side, suddenly latching onto her waist and pulling her flush against him. Clarke gasped as she felt his hard body pressing into hers, his hand grazing along her skin and reaching behind her rib cage until his palm was splayed out on the center of her back- curling her even closer against his chest. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a wicked smirk as his fingertips lightly brushed along the marred, hypertrophic skin beneath Clarke’s shoulder blades.

He had clearly found her branded scar.

“I _do_ believe our search is over, boys!” Bellamy’s voice boomed victoriously against her ears as she heard Miller and Murphy rousing with excitement behind them. Monty and Jasper screamed out Clarke's name and made a move for the prisoner, a feeble attempt to protect her, that only resulted in Miller shifting his gun towards them and warning them back into place.

Bellamy’s voice lowered again, his warm breath coursing over her face as he whispered. “You’re branded sweetheart- looks like you’re the infamous _cure_ I've been searching for." He gave her a despicable wink. "And word has it that you're headed for that Research Facility down South..to find your _mommy._ ” 

Clarke winced slightly as the tips of his fingernails dug viciously into a particularly sensitive part of her scar.

Clarke knew that the scar had been given to her- branded into her with a hot iron- as a means of marking her permanently as the "walking cure." It was given to her by the only other survivors she ever trusted enough to reveal her identity- and they had turned on her savagely once several of them decided she was a threat to their new way of life. She had barely escaped with her own life, but not before killing at least three of the men who had captured her and tortured her body with chains and a branding iron.

What she _didn't_ know was that the few men she had left alive had somehow spread the message that the "walking cure" was traveling through Louisiana with a branded scar on her back- in the hopes that she would be identified and killed by others..not to mention stripped of her clothes and dignity first.

Bellamy cocked his head. “You _do_ know we have to kill you now, right? It's nothing personal- we just can't have you screwing things up for us.” His tone reflected some vulgar satisfaction and mocking remorse that made Clarke sick to her stomach. She didn't say a word- instead she lurched forward and spit in his face.

Murphy and Miller darted towards them, gun pointed. “You _bitch_..we’re going to slaughter you!”

Bellamy held up his hand calmly, arresting them in their place. He took his other hand and carefully wiped the saliva from his freckled cheeks, his face never flinching and his eyes never leaving hers as he tightened his grip on Clarke's back. “If you’re interested in swapping body fluids Princess, that can be arranged...” Bellamy forced up her chin as he closed the gap between them, crushing his hot lips savagely against her mouth.

Clarke went stiff, taken by the sheer violence of his kiss even more so than the fact that he was actually doing it.But it took her all of two seconds to get her head back in the game before bolstering her hands against his chest and shoving him backwards with all her might. To her surprise- Bellamy stumbled pretty far backwards, laughing wickedly as the other two inmates joined in. Monty and Jasper gave Clarke a devastated look, knowing full well that they couldn't save her now.

Bellamy reached for Murphy’s knife, a long glistening blade that gleamed a rusty-silver in the scorching Louisiana sun. He twirled it in his hand with a fiendish look in his eyes, like he was suddenly more hungry for her blood than ever.

“Kill her Bellamy!” Murphy hissed, and Miller went to hand him his gun.

“I’m not wasting bullets, just keep the gun trained on the other two. All I need is the knife for the girl.” His tone was business-like, as if the simple act of killing  a person was no more complex than pulling a weed or ripping off a band-aid.

“Yes sir.” Murphy sneered and crossed his arms, his eyes filling with blood lust.

Clarke felt her heart drop into her stomach and the breath rush out of her body, but still she refused to cry. She just hoped her mother would find a way to do all this without her- she silently prayed that there would be another person out there- another person sharing her genetic mutation that could succeed where she had hopelessly failed in saving the future of her people. She turned to Monty and Jasper, reaching up to unlock the locket from around her neck and tossing it onto the ground in front of them.

“Please give that to my mother.” She urged, her voice nearly cracking. “And tell her I’m sorry.”

Monty and Jasper were straining to conceal the pure horror reflecting back in both their faces, and Monty swallowed hard and nodded, reaching down to pick up the necklace and curling it into his fist. “We’ll tell her.” He whispered.

Clarke nodded and reluctantly turned to face her doom once again. Bellamy was retreating back to sharpen the monstrous blade against a rock as Miller and Murphy moved near enough that Clarke’s blood was bound to splatter on their faces- which was probably what these sick bastards wanted, there was no doubt they’d all deserved being locked in that maximum security prison.

Bellamy ran his fingers down the length of his blade, grossly admiring it’s freshly sharpened edge. He finally turned and walked closer, stepping between where Miller and Murphy were anxiously waiting on either side of Clarke’s soon-to-be lifeless body.

Bellamy’s dark, cruel gaze fixed on hers one last time- Clarke still refusing to cower or look away as he stalked towards her. There wasn't a hint of compassion in his eyes as he growled out a weak- “Sorry about this Princess.”

He raised the shining blade in the air and Clarke braced herself for it’s impact, praying only that death would come quickly.

But just before the knife managed to strike against her skin- Bellamy twisted at the waist and swung the blade across Miller’s throat, turning a split-second later to drive the knife deep into Murphy’s stomach. Blood gushed from the gash across Miller’s neck as he dropped to his knees with wide, lifeless eyes, and Murphy collapsed into a heap of gurgling screams until he finally fell silent a few seconds later.

Clarke stood frozen, every muscle in her body gone rigid as she tried to mentally process what had just happened in front of her. She wondered if this was all some horrible dream as she floated between life and death, that maybe he really did kill her- but her mind had been merciful enough to conceal her pain in one last delusion.

But the way Bellamy towered above her, his dark eyes on fire and his chest heaving while his fingers still gripped the blood-covered blade, made her realize that this was all _very_ real.

Bellamy clenched and shifted his jaw, his eyes narrowing on her in confusion. “Why are you just standing there?” He growled.

 “What..what the hell just happened?" Clarke stammered. "Are you not killing me anymore..?”

Bellamy shoved his blade into his belt, not even bothering to wipe it off. “Of course not. I killed these idiots instead.”

“But... _why_?” she asked- her blue eyes wide with astonishment- just as Jasper and Monty came running to her side.

Bellamy arched his brow, his steely gaze still never tearing away from hers as his deep voice rumbled- “Well isn't it obvious? I’m coming with you. And I'm making _damn sure_ you make it to that Research Facility alive."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So I finally finished my first fiction a few days ago- which means my attention is now shifting to this story. From now on I will be updating this one every week, and I have to say I was so touched and absolutely thrilled to see the fantastic response I got from the first chapter! Thank you!! :)
> 
> So please leave comments and feedback about what you think about this scene- it motivates me to keep writing! ;)
> 
> Here we go again! 2nd chapter begins now- and please enjoy :)

 

Clarke stood breathless, her heart still racing in her chest as she, Jasper, and Monty huddled together against the side of the building. The prisoners' leader, Bellamy Blake, was seated nearby on a rock as he carelessly twirled his blood-covered machete in his hands.

He groaned and twisted his head in their direction. "We haven't got all day!"

Jasper leaned closer to Clarke. "I don't know about this. That dude pretty much scares the _shit_ out of me."

She observed the man seated twenty feet away from them- examining the strong curve of his shoulders, the muscled definition in his body barely veiled by a dirty, woven tank top. She could still see the tiny specks of blood splattered across his cheeks that he hadn't even bothered to wipe off. 

Clarke exhaled sharply, they had been deciding what to do about him for the past ten minutes, and the newcomer was obviously growing impatient. She swallowed the last bit of anxiety as she squared her shoulders, marching up to him with her own machete latched tightly to her side- just in case.

"Prisoner!" She called out, watching his eyes land on her with a divisive smirk.

"The name's Bellamy, _Princess_." He rose to his feet, casually walking towards her. "But I thought you already knew that? I believe my _former_ cellmates told you."

"You mean the ones you mercilessly slaughtered?" Clarke huffed, her hand hovering over her blade as he moved closer.

"Are we seriously still on that?" A violent chuckle rumbled through Bellamy's chest.  "Look Blondie, it's simple. I needed to find the cure, and they just so happened to be looking for it too- _for different reasons obviously_ \- but I traveled with them all the same. In the end I had no choice but to slaughter them, otherwise they would have slaughtered  _you."_

As the prisoner spoke- Clarke couldn't help but stare at the tiny freckles dotting his cheeks- looking so foreign on such a terrifying man. The sweat dripping down his forehead glued an array of black curls to his skin, and there was a flicker of something strange in his dark eyes.

"I was _protecting_ you." He finally snapped, sounding almost insulted.

"Are you _kidding_ me!?" Clarke could literally taste her fury as she stalked towards the prisoner, halting only inches away and glaring up into his eyes. "You let them strip me down to my underwear! You watched them run their filthy hands all over my body with a _smile_ on your face! You made me think I was going to _die_ , you son of a bitch!"

Bellamy's furious gaze wavered for a fraction of a second, and then a cunning smile crept across his bloody lips. "It was all for show. If they knew I was really out to protect you- not _murder_  you- then they would have killed me the first chance they got." He leaned into her- "But if I'm being honest with you, you're the first girl we've seen in over a year. So I wasn't about to protest that whole _stripping_ thing." He topped it off with a wink.

Clarke lunged at him, wielding her machete as Jasper and Monty grabbed her arms. "Stop Clarke! He's just trying to rile you up!" Jasper pleaded in her ear. "You're giving him what he wants!"

Bellamy cleared his throat, his jaw shifting angrily to the side. "I don't really care whether you like me or not. All that matters is that you get to that research facility alive, and you're sure as hell not going to survive with only these two _morons_ protecting you."

He gestured toward Jasper and Monty, who could say very little to defend themselves after their helpless display when Clarke was about to be executed.

"Come on Princess- they couldn't even protect you from _me_." Bellamy edged closer still, Clarke's body going rigid as he suddenly reached up to lightly brush a rogue curl from her eyes. She nearly shuddered at how unexpectedly gentle his touch was. "Trust me, _no one can."_ He whispered, his dark eyes growing intense. "I'm the most dangerous thing out here sweetheart- living or dead- but I'm the kind of person you want on your side."

Clarke's rational mind was going haywire with the scent of his skin so close to hers now, the black pools of his eyes fixed directly on her in a way that made her both petrified and intrigued at the same time. Something inside her, she wasn't sure what exactly, was telling her to trust this person. And after being on her own for so long, her instinct had become one of the only things in this joke of an existence that she could really rely on.

"Fine." Clarke growled. "You can travel with us- but only under one condition."

Bellamy raised his brow in question.

"Call me by my real name-  _Clarke._ Because I'm not your fucking Princess. And don't you dare touch me either, otherwise I'll gut you in your sleep. Got it?"

 Bellamy's eyes narrowed, and Clarke was sure he was about to lash out at her. But at the last minute, the corners of his mouth curled up as he held out his hand.

" _Clarke_ is it? I think I can live with those terms."

Against her better judgement, Clarke warily reached out her own hand to shake his. But suddenly Bellamy's calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist and he wrenched her against his chest, his lips coming down to whisper viciously into her ear- "Don't you _fucking_ forget who saved your ass back there, so I think I'll call you whatever I damn near please.. _Princess."_

Clarke jerked away, her mouth quivering with rage. "I hate you.." She hissed.

Bellamy only grinned wider, spinning on his heel as he headed towards the tracks. "Good!" he shouted behind him, slinging his gun over his shoulder. "So you coming or not? If we keep following the tracks we can get a few miles in before sun down. And I know a place we can sleep."

 

 

An hour had passed and the four relative strangers were walking in silence along the tracks. The sweltering Louisiana heat was beginning to cool as the evening descended upon them, and they were well aware that this was when they needed to be on their guard the most. Even though other survivors were likely hiding away and taking shelter, it was the _infected_ that became stronger and more active during the night. Unfortunately for them, they were surrounded by nothing but vast stretches of fields and dirt roads to the right, and dense, endless woods on their left. Neither landscapes provided an appropriate shelter from the horrors lurking in the darkness.

Bellamy was walking ten feet ahead of them- the agreed upon distance until he proved himself trustworthy-and he hadn't spoken a single word since they'd left the town.

Clarke watched the way the prisoner's muscles bunched beneath the thin fabric of his tank top, the sway of his walk that idled every time a crunch of leaves or a shuffle in the distance sounded off around them. But Jasper and Monty seemed far more preoccupied with Bellamy's presence than anything else as they walked alongside Clarke.

"What do you think he was in prison for?" Monty whispered, and Jasper shushed him to lower his voice.

"I don't know dude, but I bet he killed a guy. Did you see how big his arms are? I bet he could choke somebody to death with one hand."

"No way..." Monty gasped. "Do you really think so?"

"Definitely." Jasper eyed the man in front of them. "Not to mention the way he killed those two dudes without so much as flinching. It wasn't his first time, that's for sure."

 

Bellamy rolled his eyes and grunted. "You _do_ know I can hear everything you're saying, right?"

"Oh I'm _sorry_!" Jasper huffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Did we hurt the _psychotic murderer's_  feelings!?"

"Jasper!" Monty elbowed his friend sharply in the rib cage. "Shut the fuck up! Or he's going to murder us too.."

Bellamy just ignored them, staring gravely ahead as his eyes scanned their surroundings, his senses fine tuning to every sound and every movement around them.

Clarke still hadn't said a word, she was reflecting on how bizarre it felt to be traveling with other survivors now- especially two nerdy lab interns and a hardened criminal, of all people. And to think, only a couple short hours ago she had been talking to herself like a lunatic just to hear the sound of somebody's voice- she had been alonefor  _that_ long.

_But now she would give anything for them to shut the fuck up..._

Jasper turned to Clarke. "Honestly though? Wouldn't you feel safer if  _we_ were the ones carrying that massive gun instead of some convict?"

Bellamy let out a savage growl, still not bothering to turn around. "There's no way in hell you idiots are taking my gun. Not to mention I only have a few rounds left, and I'm sure as fuck not wasting them on you two." He glared over his shoulder. "Especially when I could just as easily choke you to death with one hand, right?"

"Be _quiet_!" Clarke finally snapped, her fuse burning on both ends the longer she listened to their bickering. "Yelling at one another will only attract the attention of the infected. The "zombies" may have next to nothing in terms of brain activity, but they still have a heightened sense of smell- _and hearing_."

Bellamy peered behind him for the first time, his eyes landing suspiciously on the petite blonde. He arched his brow at her, and Clarke's breath caught as she fell silent once more. But it was too late now, she had already attracted the prisoner's interest. 

"And how _exactly_ do you know all this?"

Clarke turned away, refusing to make eye contact. "Nice try asshole, I'm not talking to you."

Bellamy shook his head in amusement. "Like _hell_ you aren't Clarke. We need to know everything we can about these things if we want to survive. So if you know anything that we don't-then _now's_ the time to speak up."

As much as she wanted to, Clarke couldn't refuse his logic. After all, she needed to increase their chances of survival first and foremost, regardless of much she hated this man. But instead of moving closer to him, she stayed back beside Jasper and Monty, barely acknowledging Bellamy's existence.

"Monty, Jasper- I'm sure you two have more knowledge since you work with my mother at the facility." She added lightly, "Care to share?"

Monty's eyes brightened as he nodded, happy to be contributing at last. " _Yes, actually._ For example- the infected have a sort of infrared sensor, that's why they're so attracted to fire and UV lights. Except for the sun of course, they seem to hate the heat when it reaches past around 90 degrees in the atmosphere, so that's why on the hottest days you'll see the fewest infected out. Oh- And they can't detect dark colors nearly as well as they can see brighter ones like yellow or orange or..." Monty's rambling trailed off as he stared at Clarke's tank top.

"...or _white_. For whatever reason...they seem to really like white..."

Clarke frowned as she glanced down at her white shirt, realizing this may be why she'd had so many run-ins with the infected lately.

"Shit..." She mumbled, her hands instinctively hiding herself. She was the only one that wasn't wearing dark colored clothing, and she suddenly felt like a fluorescent  beacon glowing in the dense fog of the night.

Bellamy froze and jerked around. " _Take it off_." He demanded.

"What?! _Hell_ no! You are not getting me to strip again!"

He pressed his mouth into a hard line, his gaze darkening. "Don't flatter yourself honey. If your clothes are making you a target- especially at night- you're sure as hell taking them off. Cure or no cure, these things can still rip your throat out like the rest of us."

Clarke looked to Jasper and Monty, who for once seemed to agree with him. "He's right Clarke." Jasper admitted. "It's dark anyways, and once the sun comes up you can put it back on. But for now...it may be the best option to just take off the tank top."

Clarke stared at them both in astonishment, unable to believe her own ears. But deep down inside she knew she was fighting a losing battle with this one, even though she refused to admit it out loud.

Her eyes were wary as they bounced to Bellamy. "I don't want the convict ogling my body, so I think I'll take my chances, I've made it this far fully clothed."

But Clarke barely had time to think before Bellamy was suddenly lurching forward and trapping her against him, his hands rough and powerful as he clawed at the hem of her shirt and ripped it up and over her head.

"Stop! Let me .. _go_!" Clarke struggled, her voice breathy as she scratched and shoved at the prisoner's chest. Bellamy finally loosened his grip and backed away a few seconds later, her white tank top now crumpled up in his fist.

Clarke looked down in horror at her own nakedness- once again only wearing her black bra from the waist up.

"Here." Bellamy grumbled, tossing the white shirt at Jasper. "Put that in your backpack. We might be able to use it as a distraction later on."

Jasper and Monty swallowed hard and nodded, once again proving useless at protecting Clarke in Bellamy's presence. Clarke was still fuming as she spun around to face her traitors.

" _Thanks_ guys. You're a huge help."

Monty flushed, wincing in embarrassment. "Clarke- to be fair, he's a pretty scary dude. I mean, he has more muscles in his arm than I have in my entire body."

"I bet it's that whole _being in_   _prison_ thing." Jasper leaned to gossip into Monty's ear. "All those guys live for is working out, they have no other purpose in life once their locked up."

Once again, Bellamy was literally seconds away from strangling Jasper when their attention was drawn to the sound of rustling leaves in the distance.

"What was that!?" Monty jumped, his body spinning every which way as he searched for the source of the noise. "I don't think that was wind this time you guys! I think something's in the woods, and it sounds like it's only getting closer.."

Clarke watched as the prisoner's back straightened, his hand tightening around the handle of his machete as his razor-sharp eyes scanned through the trees. "Let's keep moving." He warned. "The shelter is only a mile up ahead."

Clarke gave Bellamy a brisk nod, strictly down to business now as they clutched their weapons and huddled together, walking at a rapid pace down the tracks. As Monty and Jasper scrambled to keep up with Bellamy, Clarke's attention was trained on the woods- so much so that she hadn't even noticed when she had fallen behind the rest of the group. When Bellamy noticed her absence, his eyes widened in a panic until he caught sight of her blonde curls glinting in the darkness. "Clarke!" He spit frantically, barging past the frightened lab interns and wrapping his arm brutally around her waist, dragging her up to the front.

" _What the_..." She started to shriek, clamping her hand over her mouth at the last second. She lowered her voice. "What the _hell_ Bellamy!"

But Bellamy kept his arm snaked around her waist, the heat from his skin seeping into her bare stomach as he forced her to keep up with him. "You're staying with _me_ , Blondie." His rusty voice threatened against her ear, and she despised the way it made her shiver down to her very core.

"This whole _knight-in-shining armor_ complex is getting really old..." She muttered, the fight rushing out of her. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I don't give a shit what you think!" Bellamy growled, "Like it or not, you're the only hope our race has for survival now. So if you think I'm letting you out of my sight for a _single fucking second_ , you're insane." He squeezed her even tighter against his side, making her gasp. "But I swear if you don't shut up soon Princess, I'm going to rip your tongue out with my bare hands."

Clarke went silent, her brain lingering on his words. They reminded her that secretly, she hated being who she was. She hated the way it made others see her as a possession- a faceless person who was nothing more than a vessel or a test tube of hope. Anyone who knew she was the cure automatically viewed her as this miraculous strand of scientific molecules and DNA, and who she actually was as a _person_ no longer really mattered. Either that- or they wanted to slaughterher.

It was a lonely life, really.

But as Bellamy kept his stony gaze peeled on their surroundings as they walked, Clarke's heart suddenly froze in her chest when she felt his thumb lightly grazing back and forth, moving  so softly over her stomach that she nearly missed it.  But after another minute, Bellamy's fingers were slowly tracing along the skin on her rib cage, sending an unfamiliar wave of heat pulsing through Clarke's veins. The silence stretched between them as they wandered down the tracks, the air feeling heavier with every beat of Bellamy's heart permeating the stillness. The way he touched her- it was almost like he didn't even notice. Like his hand was acting with a mind of its own, completely detached from the heartless murderer beside her. Clarke drew in a deep, strangled breath as his fingers finally came up to brush along the tender skin near her bra..

But just as Bellamy's dark eyes finally fell to Clarke's face, the sounds of rustling behind them snapped them out of the moment. Their ears were met with a chorus of putrid snarls and tortured screams- and they all turned to see a small army of infected "zombies" forming thirty yards behind them.

"Shit!" Jasper screamed, his voice cracking in his throat as Monty cowered behind him.

Clarke stood paralyzed, her blue eyes growing wide as Bellamy laced his fingers through hers. "We have to run..." He breathed. _"NOW!!"_

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the third chapter! Be warned- because this one gets a little crazy- but I tried to mix it up a bit between darker, more intense scenes and lighter ones to level out the pace. Also, I just got back from a vacation at The Smokey Mountains, so my apologies if it's a couple days late.
> 
> PS- thank you so much for all your feedback! I can't stress enough how much your comments have driven me to keep writing, they truly are a real and rewarding payment for writing fan fiction :)
> 
> Please enjoy and leave comments!! :)

 

Everything happened so fast, Clarke barely had time to breathe before Bellamy was gripping her hand firmly in his and yanking her along as they broke out into a full-on sprint. These zombies were a little faster than usual, and to Clarke’s surprise they were actually gaining on them, closing the distance at an alarming rate that was practically unheard of. Monty and Jasper were stumbling just behind them, and Monty was fumbling with the zipper of his knapsack as he tried to keep up.

Clarke turned her head, shouting to the lab interns to run faster, while Bellamy only pulled her harder- the muscles rippling and tensing in his forearm as he refused to let her go. The sound of the infected army was like something straight out of a nightmare, an ensemble of gnashing teeth and twisted snarls that would plunge even the most sane person into a fit of madness. But she couldn’t look back. As much as she wanted to find some shred of humanity still lingering in their hollow eyes and peeling, bloodless skin- as much as it might convince her that these “zombies” had all once been people who loved and laughed like she once did- she knew it was useless. They were doomed creatures, and she told herself that every time she slaughtered them she was finally releasing their souls to their rightful resting place.

Sometimes, that was the only thing that kept her from losing her mind among the horrors of this new world that the virus had created. And it was times like these that she really hoped there was such a thing as an afterlife- for the infected, _as well as herself_.

“Stop worrying about them!” Bellamy snapped, noticing the way Clarke kept glancing behind at Monty and Jasper, who were nearly ten feet behind them now. Several of the zombies were practically trailing at Jasper’s feet, and Clarke knew she couldn’t bare to see the dorky, well-meaning lab interns ripped to pieces by the undead legion.

“No!” She screamed, jabbing her elbow into the prisoner’s side and freeing herself from his grasp. Clarke ran back, pulling out her machete and swinging the heavy blade several times in the air as she shouted at Jasper to duck. In one swift move she decapitated two of the zombies, spinning on her heel to slaughter several more. A moment later Bellamy was right beside her, his own blade expertly slashing and crunching through the rotted flesh as four more zombies crumpled to the ground.

  
The smell of death and the splatter of blood filled Clarke’s senses, the tortured faces blending together like mixed paint as a second swarm of infected closed in on them. Emerging through the whir of steely blades, Clarke could barely make out the sound of Monty’s voice as he called out, “Fall back!!”

  
Bellamy and Clarke both turned to see Monty ripping a pin out of a metal device with his teeth and tossing it into the crowd of zombies, and then all four of them broke out into a frantic dash.

Seconds later an explosion burst out behind them, and a cloud of fire and smoke billowed into the sky as the army of zombies were blown to smithereens. The seismic blast sent a wave through the ground, rocking the tracks beneath their feet and sending them all sprawling forward.

The next thing Clarke knew, her world was plummeted into darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body was swallowed up in the silence, and all she could feel was the beating of somebody’s heart as a heavy chest pressed against her own. She gasped for breath, tasting the ash and smoke that clung to the air as she let herself melt into the eerie stillness that surrounded her. For a second she wondered if she was going to die.

 

For a second she _hoped_ she was already dead.

 

And then fragments of a faded memory flashed behind Clarke’s eyes as she sank into a dream:

 

_She was standing at the edge of a lake, watching the sun glisten off the gentle waves as they rolled onto the shore. She felt a hand touching her shoulder, and her father was stepping beside her._

_“Any luck?” he asked, nodding towards her fishing pole._

_Her body flooded with relief at the sound of his voice. “They hate me Dad. They just keep swimming away.”_

_“Can you blame them?” Her father laughed, watching his daughter with amusement as he settled onto the rock beside her._

_“I knew you’d come.” Clarke said softly, her eyes trained on the water. “I knew you’d find me here.”_

_“I’ll always find you sweetheart. But you’re mother is worried about you, we both are.”_

_Clarke hung her head, setting down the pole and taking a spot next to her father on the rock. But she still couldn’t look at him, she could only manage to keep the tears at bay if she kept her eyes peeled on the lake._

_“I don’t know how to do this, Dad.” Her voice sounded far away as she spoke. “I’ve spent the last three years of my life in a hospital. Every day I was told I was going to die, and every day I just waited for it all to be over. I had finally accepted it, you know?”_

_Clarke’s father nodded, his kind gaze settling on the way his daughter’s hands were balling together nervously in front of her. He reached out and placed his hand over hers, stilling them._

_“Clarke, that’s all over now, and you’ve been given a second chance. Even when you were first diagnosed and they told us that the cancer was too rare, that it was too advanced to treat- I knew you’d pull through honey, I always knew. But you can’t keep living in the past sweetheart. You have to move forward.”_

_Clarke felt the tears welling up now, she felt them trickling down her cheeks and catching in her throat as she scoffed. “You think I don’t know that!? I know I’m supposed to be grateful that I’m alive, but I don’t even know how to live anymore. All I know how to do is wither away and die in some hospital bed!” She looked away again, wiping her eyes. “And now that I’m cured, all mom wants to do is run tests on me like I’m some freaking lab experiment.”_

_The man sighed, brushing the blonde curls from her face. “You’re a miracle, Clarke. Your body healed itself without explanation, and we need to know how that happened. You survived through all of this for a reason, and maybe that reason is to help others...”_

_“But what about me!?” Clarke cried, “After three years of dying I’m supposed to just go back to normal? I don’t even know how to BE normal! And I’m already supposed to be saving others?”_

_Her father wrapped his arms around Clarke’s trembling shoulders, and she finally let the tears flow as she buried her face in his shirt._

_“You’ve always been a fighter Clarke. You already made it through hell and back, and I know you’re strong enough to pull through this too. You just need time to adjust sweetie, but you’ll see that life’s worth living again, I promise.”_

_Clarke let out a weak laugh, the anger draining out of her.“God, I would have never been able to get through these years if it weren’t for you being there.” She whispered. “I love you Dad, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”_

_Her father reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks, smiling at her softly. “Well I’m not going anywhere sweetheart, I’ll always be here for you. And no matter how old you get, remember that you’ll always be my Princess…”_

_Princess…_

 

“Princess!” The deep voice dragged her out of her dream, and Clarke’s eyelids snapped open as she was thrown back into reality.

Bellamy was hovering inches above her now, his dark eyes searching her face for any sign of life. She felt the weight of his body laying on her own, acting like a human shield from the blast.

“I can’t breathe….” Clarke managed out, weakly.

His eyes widened in fear. “Shit..are you hurt!?”

“No...you’re _squashing_ me.” She gasped, watching as Bellamy’s freckled, blood splattered face eased into a wolfish grin.

“ _Oh_?” He arched his brow, leaning in closer so that his lips were nearly brushing against her own. Clarke’s breath hitched even more as his gaze turned almost predatory, tracing over her features as he whispered- “Sorry about that. Guess I just couldn’t _help_ myself...”

And then he pushed himself off of her, gripping around her wrist and pulling her back to her feet. Clarke wobbled and Bellamy’s hand brushed gently along the small of her back, trying to steady her.

“Get off me.” She snapped at the prisoner, and he glared as he quickly dropped his hand back down.

All four of them slowly turned to witness the carnage that stretched behind them, a pile of burnt and twisted bodies that lay in a mound of ash and railroad shards. The stench was overwhelming, but not nearly as overwhelming as the fact that they had actually _survived_.

Bellamy looked to Monty. “So how exactly did you not tell us that you had a _fucking grenade_ in your bag!?”

But Monty didn’t answer, his mouth was gaping open as he stared at his friend in horror. “Jasper…” He whispered, “Please tell me that’s not….”

Clarke followed his eyes to Jasper’s forearm, a bloody gash had been ripped into his skin and a dark purple color was webbing itself upward through his veins.

“No…” Jasper mouthed, desperate tears blinking in his lashes as he looked up at Bellamy, who was already drawing his machete.

The lines of the prisoner's face hardened as he set his jaw. “Get back Princess. He’s been bit.”

Monty leaped in front of Jasper, shielding him with his arms. “No!” he begged. “Please don’t kill him! He doesn’t deserve to die like this!”

“Get the _fuck_ out of the way.” Bellamy’s voice dropped to a low, threatening growl as he strode towards them, “You won’t want to watch this...”

Clarke grabbed onto Bellamy’s shoulder, seemingly catching him off guard. His brows furrowed as he concentrated on the girl's face, the fierceness lingering in his eyes slowly fading into something that tangled Clarke’s stomach into knots.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, he suddenly pushed away from her and lunged towards Jasper, driving him back against a tree.

Jasper shrieked as his body hit the bark, and Monty screamed for his best friend as Bellamy raised his blade in the air. Clarke clamped her hand over her mouth, wishing she could look away. Wishing she could be anywhere but in that moment as she watched another innocent life being mercilessly executed.

But a second later, Bellamy swung the machete down to make a loud, piercing crack as it cut through Jasper’s flesh and bone- and his arm fell away.

“Oh my God!” Monty rushed forward, catching a shocked, pale Jasper as he crumpled to the ground.

Clarke didn’t have time to process it, she just acted on instinct as she sprinted towards them. She grabbed her white shirt from the bag and tied it around the bloody stump that was once Jasper’s arm, tightening it to halt the bleeding. The purple, infected veins had only spread to an inch below the cut, if they had waited a second longer then he would have been beyond saving.

“You’re alright.” She hushed him, stroking the injured boy’s hair as he weaved in and out of consciousness “He didn’t kill you, you hear me? He just took your arm before the infection spread. You’re going to be okay…”

And then Clarke turned to see Bellamy standing over them, his chest heaving and his hand still clutching his blade as he stared down at her. They held each other's gaze for what felt like an eternity, and the intensity in his dark eyes rooted her to the ground.

“He saved you.” She finally whispered, for Jasper’s sake. “Bellamy saved you.”

 

 

They carried Jasper until they reached the shelter that Bellamy had told them about, roughly a mile up the tracks. It was an abandoned old house tucked back into the woods, hidden by a dense line of trees and surrounded by a creek that was deep enough to ward off the infected-who apparently were terrible swimmers. Bellamy had hidden there a number of times with the other convicts, and he had rigged it with enough safety features that Clarke finally agreed to stay there for the night. Besides- with a moaning, bleeding Jasper they had no other choice but to stop.

Once they got inside, Bellamy slid the metal rods into place that barricaded the doors and windows, and Clarke ordered Monty to lay Jasper out on the kitchen table. Bellamy immediately began pulling several items from the cabinets that he had previously stockpiled, handing her a bottle of vodka and an old set of matches. Clarke accepted them with a nod, and then made quick work of lighting a small fire and dousing Jasper's bloody stump with the alcohol. Monty's face was pained as he held his friend down, stifling his screams with his hand as Clarke dipped her machete in the flames and then pressed the scorching blade against Jasper's arm, effectively cauterizing the wound.

Afterwards she tightly wrapped the stump once again, giving Jasper a heavy dose of vodka to dull the pain- but not before swiping a cup for herself.

 

Clarke sat on the front porch of the old home, her blue eyes glazed over as she stared out into the darkness. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was her reality now, that she wasn't trapped in some kind of elaborate nightmare like she used to hope. She nearly laughed to herself at the thought, because the truth was that she'd given up on the entire concept of _hope_ several years ago. Life had gone from being this beautiful  and endless promise- full of dreams and hopes for the future-to suddenly becoming this awful world plunged into a bottomless void of pain and violence. Since then- the future had lost all magic for her.

All she had now was the rising and falling of the sun, and lonely minutes stretching between that seemed to have lost their meaning long ago.

She knew it was no way for the "cure" to be thinking. If she didn't even have enough hope for her own life, how could she be expected to save the rest of mankind?

 

Clarke heard a heavy footstep behind her, and she flinched.

"Easy Princess, it's just me."

She was mildly disturbed at the way her shoulders relaxed at the deep, haggard sound of his voice. But she didn't protest as Bellamy took the rocking chair beside her, clutching his own cup of vodka. For several moments they both just stayed silent, neither of them willing to look at each other as they gazed into the trees.

"That was pretty impressive back there." He finally said, "I wouldn't expect a girl like you to know how to treat somebody with a severed arm."

Clarke huffed, raising the glass to her lips. "What do you mean, a  _girl like me?"_

"Well obviously you come from money. Anybody could tell that just by looking at you." He peered at her from the corner of his eyes. "Not to mention the whole _blonde hair, blue eyes thing_ \- you look more like a pageant winner than the vicious zombie-killing doctor type."

Clarke couldn't fight the tiny smile that worked it's way onto her lips, but she covered it with the lip of her glass as she took another swig. "Well there's alot you don't know about me then, I guess."

Bellamy's eyes wandered down, sweeping over her in a way that made her blood run cold- but her skin felt like it'd been lit on fire. She glanced down and realized that in the midst of all the chaos, she still didn't have a proper shirt on.

"Dammit." She whispered to herself, and Bellamy only grinned wider.

Clarke clutched at the straps of her bra, sending him a warning glare. "Stop looking at me like that." She hissed, but her words came out weaker than she'd hoped.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and re-directed his gaze at the dark trees, but Clarke didn't miss the way his mouth quirked up in the corners every time he dared another glance in her direction.

Clarke watched him with a certain curiosity now, this _supposedly_ heartless murderer who had spared Jasper. She had witnessed him mercilessly slaughter his own cellmates without so much as batting a lash, yet she had also seen a shred of humanity is his eyes before he took the calculated risk of saving Jasper's life. A boy who meant absolutely nothing to this cold-hearted man, but was still worth the chance.

She thought of all the fearsome, steely glares he cast her way- the savage threats he whispered in her ear. But then there was also the way he shielded her body from the blast, and the genuine _worry_ in his eyes when he thought she'd been hurt...

She couldn't make sense of this prisoner. But for some reason, she desperately wanted to.

 

"What were you in prison for?" The words came tumbling out, but the way Bellamy's shoulders tensed made her wish she could stuff them back inside.

He raised his brow at her. "Does it matter?"

"No." Clarke's eyes dropped to her lap. "I guess nothing really matters anymore."

She could feel his gaze burning into her even before she decided to look back up, and when she finally did, Bellamy was studying her. His expression was armored, his dark eyes mysterious as they latched onto hers.

Clarke watched the way the moonlight played across his features, somehow softening the sharp structures of his face- yet still making her stomach clench. He held a raw perfection that was almost gruesome with the dirt and ash smeared across his freckles, the blood drying around his jawline that did nothing to stifle his beauty.

She cleared her throat nervously, "Plus I don't think you're quite the _monster_ you appear to be, given that you chose to save Jasper instead of killing him."

Bellamy suddenly tore his eyes away from her, and she felt a coldness seep into her bones. "I didn't kill Jasper because I knew you'd never trust me if I did. And you have to trust me if I plan on protecting you."

Clarke snorted. "Protecting the  _cure_ is more like it. You don't give a shit about me."

Bellamy didn't reply, and she probably only imagined the way his jaw clenched a little too tightly.

"I'm still a monster, Princess. I'm afraid your friends weren't too far off."

Clarke could feel a lump forming in her throat, and she was almost afraid to ask the next question. "You mean...that you were locked up for.... _murder?_ "

She knew that since the virus had taken over, the moral threads of society were much looser once everyone was desperately fighting for their lives. Even Clarke had been forced to kill others against her will- and the weight of their souls bore heavy on her chest every time she closed her eyes. Especially one soul in particular...

But to murder even  _before_ society had been thrown into shambles, to kill others when it was still taboo and unnecessary- now _that_ was a different kind of person.

That wasn't a survivor, that was a killer.

She watched as Bellamy swallowed hard, the question lingering on his face as he wrestled with whether or not he could trust the girl beside him. Finally, his dark gaze drifted away to some isolated corner of the universe as he opened up to her- 

"Growing up my parents were never around, and I was floating in and out of jail for years. And the only person who really believed in me was my little sister, Octavia. I tried my best to take care of her, but she deserved better than a brother who couldn't stay out of trouble. She needed somebody who was really there for her, so she fell for this rich boyfriend and moved in with him when she was 18." He squeezed his fists, and Clarke could see a tinge of fire building in his eyes as he stared ahead. "Then one day she showed up on my doorstep, crying. She was all bruised and bloody, saying she was afraid to go back home. She was afraid her boyfriend would beat her... _again._ After that, all I remember is Octavia screaming my name as I jumped in the car and sped off to that bastard's house. When he opened the door I shoved him inside and I punched him, and then I just _couldn't stop_. When he tried to fight back I smashed his head against a table until he finally stopped moving, and the police found me kneeling in a pool of his blood." He cleared his throat as an eerie calmness washed over his face. "So they tried me for first degree murder, and I was sentenced to life in prison."

Clarke tried her best not to gasp, and she quelled the fear in her gut as she kept her voice steady, "Did you...did you mean to kill him?"

Bellamy was silent for a long moment, and then he finally faced her, holding her gaze unwavering. "Yes."

Clarke tried to absorb this information, tried to reconcile the image of a cold-blooded killer with that of a brother who simply loved too much. And when she looked into those fearless eyes, she didn't see even a hint of remorse.

And she couldn't decide whether that terrified her, or _excited_ her.

Clarke tried to act casual as she took a sip of vodka, feeling the warmth burning through her esophagus as she exhaled. Bellamy was still watching her, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to read her- trying to guage Clarke's every move.

"Are you scared of me now?" He whispered, the usual intensity in his voice was starting to crack.

Clarke didn't have to think twice before shaking her head no, and Bellamy's grave expression seemed to relax just a little.

They both fell into a comfortable silence, each of them staring off into the distance as they sat in their chairs, the sounds of the night growing louder with every minute they refused to speak. Clarke's gaze wandered to his face, watching the way the moonlight was now shining off the curve of his lips. Those full lips that pressed against his glass every time he raised the vodka back to his mouth. Those same lips that violently pressed against her own just yesterday when she thought he was about to kill her...

It was more of a painful threat than an actual kiss, but the memory of it still burned deeper in her stomach than the vodka ever could.

After several long, agonizing minutes she finally muttered. "Bellamy...Why did you kiss me yesterday?"

Bellamy froze for a moment before he actually had the nerve to _laugh_ , and Clarke felt like throwing her glass at him. "I had to." He chuckled. "It was all part of the whole dominance act. Plus I knew how Murphy and Miller worked, and if I didn't stake some sort of claim over you- they would have likely tried much more than just a _kiss_ , if you know what I mean."

Clarke boxed her arms over her chest and pouted, but try as she might, she couldn't ignore the real logic in his words.

"Oh." Was all she could manage.

Bellamy watched her with a wicked amusement, leaning his powerful arms on his knees as he arched his brow at her. "Why do you ask Princess? Did the kiss leave _that_ much of an impression on you?"

Clarke huffed out a furious breath, "Please. I wouldn't even call that a kiss, it was more like a brutal-attack on my mouth. Not to mention it lasted all of two seconds."

Bellamy's lips curled up into a sinister smirk as he leaned closer. "Oh _really?_ Well if that's the case, then I'd be happy to try it again. Especially if you promise not to push me away this time..."

Clarke dug her nails into her thighs, burying down whatever urge was building inside her now. "Try to kiss me- and you're a dead man."

Bellamy's unexpected smile nearly split his face in two, and for a moment he looked like a normal human being to her.

An extremely dangerous, and despicably _handsome_ human being. But a human being all the same. _  
_

"Well let's call it a night then." Bellamy stood, his tall frame towering above her as he held out his hand.

Clarke blatantly ignored him, pushing herself out of the rocking chair and walking inside, with Bellamy following close behind.

Jasper had finally passed out on the kitchen table- from either the pain or the alcohol, and Monty was slumped over in a chair beside him, both of them fast asleep in the darkness.

"The main bedroom is down the hall." Bellamy said quietly, and Clarke gave him a brisk nod goodnight before hurrying away.

Once she stepped into the bedroom, she didn't bother flicking on the light as she stared at the queen-sized bed. The sheets were dirty and worn, and the room was crawling with the musty smell of loneliness. The same dreadful odor clung to the entire house, a place that was probably once lived in and cherished by a family- and now stood empty and rotting in the woods, completely forgotten.

She knew how it felt.

But just as Clarke was about to shut the door, a hand reached up from the other side and suddenly forced it back open. Bellamy was there again, his black silhouette leaning against the doorway.

_What the hell was he doing?_

Clarke's heart raced as Bellamy stepped forward, hovering over her as he backed her up against the far wall. She could see the way his dark eyes were tracing her features hungrily, his jaw hardening as he pinned her in place, trapping her between his body and the wall.

"Bellamy..." She stammered, her voice catching in her throat as the panic clawed it's way into her chest.

Bellamy's deep, gravelly voice rumbled in her ear. "No need to be so scared, I just couldn't sleep without doing  _one_ last thing..."

And then he was reaching for the hem of his shirt, ripping it up and over his head in one smooth move. Clarke's fear suddenly shifted, an even more terrifying emotion filling her veins as she gazed in awe at his bare chest and rippling torso. She could almost hear Bellamy's evil chuckle as he tilted up her chin with his fingers. "Eyes up _here_ , Princess."

Clarke's entire body went rigid as he grabbed at her arms and thrust them over her head, but a second later she felt the woven fabric of his tank top gliding over her skin.When he finally dropped her arms, she now found herself fully clothed. Wearing Bellamy's shirt.

Clarke's eyes widened while she gazed up at him- a strange mixture of relief and disappointment flooding her face.

Bellamy's lips tugged into a grin as he pulled her even closer- his eyes glinting with fire as he gently brushed his thumb along the skin of her cheek. "I thought I owed you a shirt." He whispered. "I wouldn't want you catching a cold... _all alone_ in your bed."

Clarke swallowed, still unable to speak.

"And you should probably know something else." He bent his head so that their lips were nearly touching, and his warm breath tangled deliciously with her own. "What you were saying earlier, about killing me if I ever tried to kiss you...well just know that I've never had a problem gambling with my fate before Princess-especially if I think it's worth it."

The moonlight from the window cast the perfect glow on Bellamy's face- and he pulled back just enough for Clarke to see that his usually hardened gaze had grown softer, his deep eyes regarding her with a flicker of real affection that wasn't meant to be seen.

He reached up one last time to tenderly brush a wayward curl out her eyes, and then he abruptly pulled away from her and left without so much as a word- or an explanation- to piece her back together.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the fourth chapter! This one may just connect a few dots for you..or possibly just confuse you even further! Thank you so much again for all of your continued support and I absolutely love getting your reviews :) Your words mean so much to me, you have no idea!
> 
> Thank you again! I'd be thrilled to see more of your comments, and please do enjoy this fourth installment :)

Clarke hadn’t slept in a real bed – let alone a real _house_ \- for months.

Usually she was forced to take refuge in a soft patch of dirt or curling up inside an abandoned old shed, rarely getting more than a couple hours of rest at a time. Sleeping arrangements were never pretty in this post-apocalyptic world, and they were certainly never planned. One time she actually collapsed from exhaustion while searching through a vacant truck in the woods, waking up to a small herd of zombies clawing at the windows and rattling at the doors. Thankfully, she’d been able to crawl out through a broken latch in the trunk, managing to slip away just in time.

Traveling alone meant always having to sleep with one eye open, depending solely on your own senses for protection and never leaving yourself vulnerable more than absolutely necessary.

But the moment Clarke sank into those scratchy, fowl-smelling sheets- she thought she was in heaven. It was enough to quell the anxiety in her gut that Bellamy had so thoughtfully bestowed on her. Even the very thought of the prisoner made her blood run cold- and that was saying _a lot_ coming from a girl like her. Mostly because Clarke had become fearless in the face of mortality since far before the virus had ever ravaged her world.

It was a resilience that had blossomed deep within her during her third year at the hospital, once she had grown comfortable- _addicted_ even- to the constant threat of death that loomed over her head on a daily basis. As unbelievable as it sounded, she found a certain comfort in knowing how her life would end, and it granted her a beautiful clarity of mind to know she could make peace with her own fate.

So for a girl who could easily smile in the face of darkness, to actually have a single mortal instill as much fear in her as Bellamy could- was unsettling to say the least. Everything about him- from the smooth curve of his muscles to the deceptively innocent splash of freckles across his cheeks- not to mention the way he looked at her with a steely cross between loathing and hostile attraction, set her nerves on fire and made her question everything she once knew about strength.

Clarke had managed to fall asleep for maybe an hour or so. She had quieted her mind by simply pretending that the lonely bedroom was her own, and this house was hers too- tucked far away from the world and all the pain that came with it. She imagined how pretty the home had once been, when the white paint was still fresh and the wood wasn't rotting and infested with termites.  It were thoughts like these that soothed her nerves and allowed her to succumb to the fatigue that had ebbed away at her for days on end.

And when her eyes fell shut, she was carried away into a dream that was so perfect, and so beautiful that it would slip her mind the very moment she was jostled awake…

 

 

Clarke's eyes flew open. She wasn't sure what had woken her at first- possibly the the wind rustling against the windowsill, or the pipes creaking in the walls.

 But a moment later she heard it again. A light thumping noise that sounded off just above her, coming from somewhere on the second floor. Could it have been Bellamy? In a normal world she may have been able to shrug off such a mild, innocuous noise. But these days she could never be too careful, and she followed her instincts by dragging herself out from under the covers and tip-toeing her way slowly across the floor.

But just as she placed her hand on the banister of the staircase, a tiny shuffle of feet and squeak of linoleum caught her by surprise.

“Clarke?”

“Shit. Monty!” She silently cursed herself, lowering her voice to a whisper so as not to wake Jasper. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, I just woke up and I thought I heard someone in the hall. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Clarke sighed, “No, it’s fine. I just….” She glanced up at the staircase, the rickety steps plunging up into a pit of darkness and shadows on the top floor- and she listened for the sound again, but this time heard only silence. “Never mind, I guess it was nothing.”

Monty raised his brows in question. “You sure? You look a little rattled...”

She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Really, It’s nothing. I was probably just imagining things.” But even as she said it, her eyes wandered up the passageway once more.

She looked back to see Monty’s lips were curling up just barely, and Clarke couldn’t help but notice the heavy bags under the boy’s eyes and the slump in his shoulders, and she was reminded again that she wasn’t the only one in pain. Seeing his best friend nearly die, holding his hand through the night while he writhed in agony on a kitchen table- it could shove anybody to the brink of defeat.

“Old houses in the woods will do that, I’m sure.”

She smirked. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So how’s Jasper holding up? “

Monty’s face fell, and a distinct sadness seeped into his features. “He’s still asleep, thank God. I think the vodka really knocked him out. He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow though.”

Clarke nodded, pursing her lips.“Well, there are worse things than a hangover.”

“Like not having an arm?” His words cut deeply, and she could see his friend's suffering etched into his face

Clarke never knew the right thing to say, so instead she took a step closer and gently laid her palm between the blades of his shoulders. She remembered how her father used to rub slow circles in her back when she was in chemo, how sometimes just the simple act of human touch gave greater comfort than words ever could. 

Monty sighed, his lids falling heavy at her touch. “I’m worried about him." He muttered. "If the wind outside is any indicator, looks like a storm is brewing on the horizon. I don’t think he’ll be strong enough to travel tomorrow.”

Clarke peered over his shoulder, her eyes landing on Jasper's sleeping form. Even from out in the hallway, she could see the way the boy's chest rose and fell in jagged peaks, obviously struggling through some sort of nightmare.

She cleared her throat, willing back a twinge of guilt. “Then we’ll wait a day, Monty. I'm not letting him die, okay? This world can survive through hell a little longer without the cure, especially if it means saving a life.”

The boy's eyes grew lighter, and a tiny smile crept across his face. “Thank you Clarke. Really... _thank_ _you_.”

Clarke could only nod, rubbing her hand on his back as Monty leaned into her, suddenly pulling her in for a hug. She went stiff at first, having too long been removed from any type of human warmth or interaction- but eventually she felt her natural defenses dissolve and she eased into his arms. She and Monty stayed like that for some time, both of them using the other as a crutch as they held on tightly with closed eyes and strangled breaths. Embracing each other like they weren't actually strangers, like they were clinging desperately to the last moment of reprieve they would ever be given.

And then there was the sound of somebody rapping their fingers on the banister, and Clarke yanked away in surprise.

"Well isn't this just _adorable_?" She looked up to see Bellamy standing in the middle of the steps, a dark tower of golden muscle and callous eyes that loomed above them, his fingers tightening on the rail. "Hope I'm not _interrupting_ something?"

The prisoner's words were thick with implication, and Clarke's stomach twisted when she noticed his gaze narrowing on Monty. "Umm, hey Bellamy?" Monty stuttered. "Sorry I just..I mean _we_ were just..."

Bellamy sauntered down the steps, his arms crossing over his chest as he wedged himself between their bodies, forcing them apart . He turned to hover over the small, quivering boy with a vengeful look in his eyes.

"Shouldn't you be tending to your friend?" He threatened. "Because I'm pretty sure that  _hanging_ all over Clarke isn't going to keep him alive."

Monty opened his mouth, but was apparently too terrified to do anything other than clamp his lips shut and back out of the hallway. With one last glance at Clarke, he cowered into the darkness of the kitchen.

 

Clarke could feel the prickle of blood filling her face. She was sick of these incessant scare tactics and pointless bullying, and she knew she couldn't stand for it any longer. She curled her hands into fists as Bellamy slowly turned to face her- but she was stopped dead in her tracks.

Bellamy wasn't glaring at her like she'd expected. Rather she was met with a disturbing absence of fury as his dark eyes met hers, and they were clouded with some emotion she couldn't decipher. But the way he gazed at her now, like all the strength had been sucked out him, it chipped away at her armor and she suddenly found herself straining to breathe.

Bellamy's voice was weak as he finally whispered, "If you're planning on throwing yourself at these idiots in the middle of the night, at least do it somewhere I don't have to watch." 

Clarke was speechless as he shoved his way past her without another word. And as she stood motionless in the hallway, she wondered if her brain was playing tricks on her again.

Because she'd _have_ to be insane to believe that what she saw- the tiny glimpse of pain that had flitted across his features- was a look that a vicious man like Bellamy should have no room in his heart for.

 

_______________________________

 

The following sunrise brought with it the first sign of rain, and the storm descended upon Southern Louisiana around 8 am. Clarke plodded along the wooden floors, the murky old windows of the house filtering in the morning light through ratty/moth-eaten curtains. She stumbled into the kitchen, her eyes puffy and her blonde curls tangled into knots, and was immediately startled by a crack of thunder shaking the walls.

The morning was far more hostile than she'd hoped. After pressing cold wash rags to Jasper's head, Clarke was able to bring him fully back to consciousness as Monty made them a meager breakfast from their rations. Bellamy remained aloof, sitting silently in the corner and staring out the window, waiting for the storm to break. By later in the afternoon, Bellamy was growling and throwing random plates against the wall, watching them shatter as the storm raged on even harder.

"We have to get on the fucking road! We've wasted too much time already, and we need to get to the lab, dammit!"

Clarke rolled her eyes and stomped towards the window, throwing back the curtains. "You care so much about getting me there alive? Well that's not going to happen if 70 mile per hour winds throw me up against the side of a barn! Or maybe another army of zombies will be swept up in a cyclone and land right on top of us! Now wouldn't _that_ be fun?!"

Bellamy only stared at her, his brow snapping up as he shifted his gaze to the trees outside, watching the violent gusts practically bending them in half. Finally he spun on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

Monty mouthed a silent "thank you" to Clarke from across the room.

Clarke spent the rest of the day either tending to Jasper- who was quickly becoming more alert- or rummaging through the house looking for useful supplies. All of them rotated between taking power naps and cracking open old cans of food, except Bellamy of course- who seemed dead set on being an asshole the entire day. Occasionally Clarke would hear a hole being punched through a wall in some distant part of the house, followed by a string of huffs and curses as Bellamy griped about the weather and how he hated them wasting so much time.

Clarke didn't even attempt to talk to him, she was more than happy to let him have his little temper-tantrums as long as he kept them away from her.

As nighttime fell again, Clarke, Monty, and Jasper decided to spark some flames in the fireplace, sitting in a circle on the floor and sipping from an old bottle of whiskey they found stored under the sink. Clarke listened to the stories of the two lab interns- how they'd become friends in college after meeting in Advanced Chemistry, eventually moving together to intern with famed scientists in DC (such as Clarke's mother.)

Clarke couldn't help but smile. For a moment there she actually felt like the world was normal again, watching the boy's faces light up as they shared their tales, the flickers of fire casting an orange glow around them in the darkness of the living room. She could even relate to them on some levels, especially since she'd been a bio-physiology student and was studying to become a physician.

 _Was_ being the key word there. Because sometimes when she spoke about her life before the virus, it was like she was talking about somebody she didn't even know. A girl who once had dreams, and was now nothing more than a total stranger to her.

"You'll make a great doctor." Jasper said, his left hand subconsciously grazing the bandage on his missing arm. "You already saved my life."

"Don't forget Bellamy was the one who actually saved you." Clarke pointed out, suddenly wondering why she was defending such a pompous animal.

Both Monty and Jasper huffed, rolling their eyes. "I think he did that for you more than he did it for me." Jasper whispered.

Clarke blinked in confusion, "Why the hell would you think that?"

But then the boys exchanged glances, eagerly changing the subject. The rest of the night Clarke giggled and basked in the warm glow of the fire as they all discussed plans for engineering Jasper a robotic arm from bio-synthetic materials.

Clarke couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so at ease, if she ever had at all.

But at some point Bellamy lingered near the doorway, catching Clarke's eye for a split second before he walked away again, tossing a frigid glare over his shoulder.

And then even the flames burning beside her couldn't suppress the chill that ran through her bones.

\----------------------------------

 

Clarke's eyelids flew open, this time she was _sure_ that the strange noises had startled her awake again. She waited, and then she heard another thud coming from above, followed by a deep, muffled voice and a scraping along the ceiling.

_What the hell was Bellamy doing?_

This time she knew she wasn't imagining things as she kicked off the covers and reached for her machete, freshly sharpened and hanging along the post of the bed. She once again tip-toed into the dark hallway, peeking into the living room where Monty and Jasper lay passed out on the couches. They were obviously too drunk to be woken. Clarke glanced out the window to see the wind was finally blowing more gently, far less violent than before- and she knew the noises weren't coming from the storm.

She gripped her hand on the banister and slowly walked up the steps, wincing and holding her breath as the wooden boards creaked beneath her feet. The entire staircase and top floor was bathed in shadows, and Clarke nearly jumped when she heard the noises growing louder. She noticed a tiny sliver of light reflecting off the far end of the hallway, and she padded carefully along the top floor as she made her way closer.

The faded glow was leaking out from under the door of the last room- and Clarke couldn't help but wonder why Bellamy would be sleeping with a light on.

 _Because he obviously isn't sleeping,_ she thought. Bellamy had been acting strange all day, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something from them...and from her.

And it was damn time she found out what that was.

Her curiosity peeked and her heart began to race, she clutched her blade as she stood in front of the door. She leaned her ear against the wood to listen more closely, and she heard the sound of Bellamy's voice speaking softly- as if somebody else was in the room with him.

"What the..." Clarke mouthed silently, and she sucked in a deep breath as she reached for the door knob. The hinges on the old door rolled more easily than she could have hoped, and the door swung open without a sound.

The room was dimly lit by a single burning candle sitting on a ledge, illuminating the dips and grooves of Bellamy's shirtless back as he faced away from her. He was idling near another door on the other side of the room, a shaded crawlspace that looked like a tiny bathroom- and he was stretching his arm towards something inside.

"Please...you have to eat." She heard him whisper, his usually impetuous tone now considerably weaker- more desperate. A small figure stirred in the darkness, and Bellamy jerked his arm away as it came closer. His foot quickly nudged at a metal bowl on the floor, before leaping back again.

But there was something very wrong with what she was seeing. Even though the entrance to the bathroom was shrouded in black, and even though Clarke couldn't make out the features of the mysterious figure hidden inside...there was still something very wrong with the way it _moved_. It's motions were choppy and unnatural, and Clarke's stomach lurched when she realized that they were all too familiar.

Confusion and dread washed over her, and deep down inside Clarke really wished she'd stayed in bed.

And then the room was filled with a sharp hiss and a gnashing of teeth as the small figure leaped into the candle light- it's hollow eyes sunk inside a peeling face, tufts of long dark hair falling out in clumps. A tattered green dress loosely hung from it's frail limbs, while a map of dark purple veins were webbing their way through the shredded, pale skin.

Bellamy moved again towards the infected creature hunching over the bowl and devouring the tiny animal inside. The muscles in his arms trembled with something greater than terror as his fingers stretched closer to the creature's back. Clarke gasped as she felt the sense of longing and trepidation in the way Bellamy reached for it- like he would give anything in the world to touch this creature again.

"Octavia.." He whispered, and the absolute ruin in his voice made Clarke's heart sink in her chest.

She couldn't help the way her mouth began to move beyond her own accord, muttering "Oh my God...." and the way her fingers loosened their grip on the door and it slammed shut with a resounding thud.

The prisoner's back tensed as he spun around, and then Clarke was met with the black fire in Bellamy's eyes as his gaze landed directly on her.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness- this chapter. Keeping with the emotional roller-coasters I love to throw in my stories, this one practically gave me anxiety just to write! Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and please leave me your comments and tell me what you think or guess or predict..or just tell me that I'm crazy for writing this story altogether! ;)
> 
> Any-who, have fun reading :)

Clarke's fingers tremored as they cupped her mouth, she felt herself slowly backing up against the wall- one hand splaying on the rotting wood, while the other tightened deftly around the handle of her blade. "Bellamy...please tell me this isn't what it looks like..."

He said nothing at first, and Clarke's eyes were drawn to the vein twitching furiosuly in his neck.The candle released a thin veil of smoke in the darkness as Bellamy took a step forward, the crimson glow dancing across the planes of his face made him all the more frightening.

Finally he dropped his voice to a deceptively sultry, almost soothing tone that could make even the deadliest of threats burn like a symphony in her ears. "Princess. You _really_ shouldn't have come here..."

Clarke swallowed hard, steeling herself against the feeling of suffocation that gripped her chest. She had discovered his darkest secret, and now she was destined to face the wrath of a man that would do anything to keep that secret protected. He closed the distance between them calmly, too calmly, like a vulture circling its prey.

"Is that your- _sister?"_ She asked shakily.

Bellamy slowed to a halt several feet away, and Clarke let out a tiny breath she didn't realize she was holding.

He suddenly snapped. "What was I supposed to do... _abandon_   _her!?_ " But even he couldn't hide the falter in his voice. His dark eyes roved her deeply, like desperation and madness swirling together. It was clear he was tortured, and even as the harsh shadows transformed the sharpness of his features and the cut of his cheekbones into an image from a nightmare, Clarke could still see a man who was clinging to the edge of hope.

Then the creature that was once his beloved sister hissed and rattled at her chains from behind, and Bellamy'flinched painfully- his sanity seeming to rip further at the seams.

So _this_ was why he needed the cure so badly. It all made sense now.

The prisoner's chest heaved as he turned away from Clarke and moved towards the bathroom again, the fire in his eyes melting as he crouched to his knees before his sister. "Please Octavia.." He begged, "Stop pulling at your chains. Remember what I promised you?" His deep voice pleaded softly with the infected girl, and the sound of it nearly ripped Clarke's heart in two as he continued-

"I'll make all of this better Octavia, and you and I can be together again like I promised. And I swear I won't fuck things up this time, I swear I won't let anyone hurt you ever again.." Bellamy's gentle, almost sedating tone seemed to stir the creature only slightly, before it sunk back into its shadows again.

 

Clarke stood in awe, hardly able to believe this was the same man she had grown to fear. She watched as Bellamy stayed kneeling, watched as he fought the urge to slump further against the ground as the courage drained from his eyes- leaving him to stare emptily into the darkness.

"Bellamy...." She finally breathed. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You know you can't keep her like this, it's not fair to either of you..." Then she prepared herself for his retaliation, waiting for the rage of hell-fire that was sure to come raining down on her any moment....only it didn't. He didn't move an inch.

Clarke wondered if for a second he was drifting off into some memory, gazing into the bathroom like his mind was a million miles away. Kneeling there, he looked every bit the slain beast from a fairy tale. All golden muscle and rippling sinew, and she couldn't help but notice the way his dark curls fell across his brow- tangled in that familiar way that reminded her of her own. 

Clarke suddenly felt herself being drawn closer to this man, approaching the prisoner cautiously as she reached down and laid a quivering hand on his shoulder. She nearly gasped at how warm and solid he felt beneath her touch, and she held her breath when Bellamy's chest fell in a painful sigh.

"I failed her Clarke. All I've ever done is fail her." His voice was haunting and deep, like the low rumble of an echo that vibrated down her spine.

"I'm sure you did everything you could for her.."

" _No."_ He growled weakly, still staring ahead. "If I wasn't in prison when the virus broke out, then I could have protected her. _Hell_ , I should have protected her long before then. I should have never let that bastard she lived with hurt her in the first place, and I should have been the loving brother she deserved instead of this _monster_ I've become." His chest hitched with a sharp intake of breath, the cavernous pitch to his voice then dropping to a dull whisper. "All I ever wanted was to be a better person for her, help her stop feeling so worthless after our parents left. I guess we both felt that way..."

Just as Clarke swallowed at the thickness choking in her airway, Bellamy dragged himself up from the ground, turning to face her.

"And _you_." He croaked, towering over her with his shirtless body and his frenzied gaze searching her face, the last remnants of hope flitting across his eyes. "You are the only one who can help me save her, you're my last chance Clarke.. _.I need you."_

She sighed, fighting her own urge to sink to her knees. "Bellamy. The DNA in my blood has only been confirmed as a vaccine. It hasn't been tested on those who are already infected, mainly because they're are already rotting from the inside..."

Bellamy pressed his lips together in a hard line, nodding. "I realize that. But look.." He motioned to the doorway where Octavia's body was curled on the ground, leaning against her chains that tied her to the sink. "Look at her Clarke, I've kept her as preserved as possible. When I found her wandering three months ago, I hid her in here to keep her safe and keep her fed. See how her skin isn't as pale as the others? She's calmer and she doesn't thrash as much as she used to, and I'm pretty sure her organs are still functioning."

Clarke glanced over his shoulder, observing the trembling creature huddled in a ball. Her long, dark hair was falling from it's scalp, her eyes were hollow and unseeing- but still- she didn't look as decayed or gnarled as other zombies. Clarke sucked in a deep breath, wondering if she was as insane as Bellamy to believe that she could possibly be saved.

"How old is she?"

"22." Bellamy Whispered. "You probably can't tell now, but she's really beautiful too."

Clarke looked again, seeing the girl's teeth gnawing at full lips, set low on a soft but angular face with arched brows and piercing eyes. Even the sunken rot of viral flesh couldn't conceal the beauty this creature once held.

"I can tell." Clarke murmured, her eyes moving back to Bellamy's."She looks like you."

Bellamy's lips tugged up at the edges, and Clarke was amazed to find him actually _smiling._  As if all the life came rushing back to his face, and even in the darkness she could see the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, looking sincerely happy for the briefest of moments.

Clarke's heart squeezed in her chest, he was more breathtaking than ever.

Bellamy moved into her and rested his hands firmly on Clarke's hips, as if anchoring her in place to keep her from running away. "So does that mean you'll help me save her?" He begged. "You'll at least help me try?"

Clarke opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly a wave of pain came washing over her. She squeezed her eyes shut- feeling like Alice tumbling and falling down the rabbit hole as she plummeted back into a memory from her past, a moment in time so painful that it sucked the oxygen from her lungs...

_Clarke screaming._

_Her father turning. His hollowing eyes and shaking hands reaching towards her, a silent plea to his only daughter to save herself instead. Just before the last shred of humanity whisked out of him, he gave her a subtle nod- and then Clarke shot him in the head, watching his lifeless body fall to the ground before the virus had taken the last of his soul._

Clarke's eyes flew open again, and the horror clutched her very being as a new reality dawned on her- if Octavia could be saved, her father could have been saved too.

And  _that_ she simply couldn't accept.

 

She snapped out of her daze, shaking her head. "No Bellamy. I'm sorry, but I can't."

The prisoner's blithe smile quickly fell, and the planes of his face hardened in the shadows. "What do you mean- you _can't?_ "

Clarke could feel his fingers digging into her hips now, almost painfully so. And for whatever reason, it fueled the fire inside her.  "I mean it won't _work_ Bellamy!" She snapped, startled by her own cruelty. "So stop looking at me like I'm the only hope you have left in this world! I can't save her, you need to admit that she's gone and just.. _let her go dammit!!_ " She raised the blade in her hand. "If you don't end her suffering, than I will!"

Suddenly Bellamy snarled and shoved her backwards, ripping the blade from her hands as Clarke's back slammed against the wall, knocking the wind from her chest.

"Don't you fucking  _touch_ her!"

She gasped as he pressed his body into hers, pinning her to the wall and bringing the curve of the blade to her neck. He lowered his lips to her ear, the heat of his breath skittering across her cheek.

"If you even so much as look at her, I will slit your throat and spill every last drop of your pretty little blood on this floor.. _Princess._ " He hissed viciously. "I _dare_ you to try."

 Clarke should have been terrified at this point. She even willed the fear to take hold of her, to twist her from the inside out. But for some miraculous reason, she felt nothing. Here she was- staring into the fuming, seething face of death incarnate himself, and she didn't feel afraid. As the tension stretched between them, Bellamy's gaze clouded with darkness and rage, his jaw clenching and shifting to the side. He pressed into her even harder with the cold metal blade on her throat, trying to force the terror from her eyes.

But still, she felt no fear.  All she could feel was the inevitable sadness and anger that had haunted her for years, building in the pit of her stomach and seeping into her bones. "Do it." She said calmly, confidently. "Kill me."

Bellamy's brow furrowed in confusion. "What!?"

"I said _kill me_ Bellamy. Please..." And then the sadness leaked from her bones, forming giant, treacherous tears that rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want this life anymore. I spent three years of this life in a hospital waiting to die a peaceful death from cancer. But my fucking DNA and fucking  _miracle blood_   took that away from me."

Clarke could taste the tears pooling above her lips, her body racking with sobs as Bellamy watched her with heartless, unwavering eyes. She could hardly believe she would let herself become so vulnerable, so exposed in front of a man that was this unpredictable and dangerous- but she simply didn't care anymore.

Clarke choked against the machete as her words kept flowing. "And now I'm left to face this horrible world alone, left to be some savior to the damned and forced to kill the people I love more than anything.." Her eyes glazed over as she remembered her father again, her tone becoming wistful and lost. "Forced to watch the life drain from his eyes...the only person who stood beside me through the hell I lived. He was the only person who believed in me, and I just killed him Bellamy...I just _killed_ him!"

Clarke fingers clenched around Bellamy's on the handle, suddenly pulling the blade tighter to her throat. "Just fucking kill me, _please!_   You want my DNA so badly? Just spill my blood into a jar and take it to my mother! You probably don't even need me, so just do it, _dammit_!"

The ruthless mask the prisoner wore suddenly began to crack. His eyes widened, emotions warring behind them as the sweat dripped from his brow. Clarke could feel the way his hand began tremble under hers as it held the blade, causing it to dig further and a tiny ribbon of blood to trickle down from her skin. Bellamy's gaze followed the trail of red in mild horror, his heart racing against her own as his stilted breath shivered over her face.

When his eyes flew back to hers he released his grip on the blade, letting the weapon fall to the ground between them.

But Bellamy didn't move away. He stayed pressed against her as he reached up with his empty hand and slowly curled his fingers near her throat. Clarke went rigid, wondering if he was choosing to choke her instead to preserve the blood in her body. But instead of cutting off her air supply, his fingers moved to gently brush along the shallow cut the blade had left behind, his dark gaze watching the blood smearing on her skin. His eyes slowly rolled up to hers again, and Clarke's heart nearly stopped.

Bellamy was studying her now with a look of almost wonder, the sharp edges to his gaze softening as he traced the curves of her face with his dark eyes. His fingers hesitated against her throat for a moment, before grazing up to wipe the tears from her cheek with the pads of his thumbs.

Clarke's breath caught at the intimacy of the gesture, taken with the prisoner's sudden tenderness as his hand stilled- cupping the side of her face in his calloused palm. 

" _Clarke_." His deep voice breathed her name.

Bellamy's eyes dropped again- this time to her lips- and Clarke could feel the heat stirring in her chest as he leaned closer. Every pulse of her veins and every beat of her heart went silent as Bellamy closed the tiny gap between them.

But he didn't kiss her like she expected, instead he only brought his forehead to rest gently against hers. His lids falling heavy under a dark fan of lashes, and he sighed. "I'm sorry..." 

And then relief flooded her body, and Clarke melted against him.

 

They stayed like that for some time, their heavy breaths filling the silence. Clarke wrapped her arms around him as he pulled her closer, Bellamy's lips hovering above her own- but never touching. They kept their foreheads pressed together as both of their eyes fell shut, and Clarke was amazed at how safe she suddenly felt in his embrace. This man who she was certain was going to kill her- now gave her something she had never dreamed possible at this point in her life.

 _Comfort_. And judging by the way he gripped her tighter and tighter, Bellamy was seeking the same kind of comfort from her as well.

"Okay." She murmured quietly, after what felt like hours. "I'll help you. I'll help you try and save her."

Then a breathy chuckle rumbled though Bellamy's chest, and Clarke opened her eyes to see his lips sliding up into a rueful smile.

"Thank you Princess." He whispered. "Somehow...I knew you'd understand."

A moment later Bellamy lifted his hand from her face, glancing down at her blood staining his fingertips- and his brow creased with worry, "Let's go downstairs and get you cleaned up."

Clarke nodded, reluctantly pulling away as he finally loosened his arms. She silently followed him out of the room, and together they made their way down the dark staircase wordlessly, the wooden boards of the old home creaking beneath their feet. Once they walked into the kitchen, Bellamy pulled the bottle of vodka from under the sink and dumped its contents on a wash cloth. He turned to face her, and Clarke saw the moonlight bathing his features in a subtle glow, his dark eyes shining like onyx as he stared at her for a long moment. Then he stepped closer and curled his hands around her waist, suddenly lifting her in the air and placing her on the kitchen table with ease. Clarke was startled by his strength, a tiny noise escaping her lungs as he set her down.

The shadows in the kitchen carved across the bare skin of his chest, and Bellamy smirked as he stepped between her knees, raising the doused rag to her neck. He carefully angled her chin back with his finger to better reach her wound, and Clarke hissed as the burn of the alcohol seeped into the gash.

"Stay still." He urged. "It'll hurt a lot less if you don't move around so much."

Clarke huffed out a laugh. "I bet you say that to all the girls, don't you?"

Bellamy's lips stretched into a predatory grin, his brow arching as he dabbed at her throat. "Very funny. But I don't usually make girls bleed... _unless they want me to_." He winked.

Clarke rolled her eyes, looking hardly impressed. But despite the levity of their words, Clarke couldn't help but focus on the tiny freckles dotting his cheeks and the messy curls tumbling over his eyes as he finished cleaning her cut. She was hyper-aware of their proximity once again, the heat from Bellamy's skin radiating off his chest as it rose and fell more sharply, his breaths sounding more and more strangled the longer he stayed so close to her- and it was then that Clarke realized that Bellamy was staring at her again.

He cleared his throat, his gaze shifting almost nervously. "I think it's time we got you to bed, Princess."

Clarke locked her eyes on his, neither of them saying anything for several moments. She felt herself spiraling down into her own mind, her traitorous thoughts forming words on her lips that she couldn't stop herself from saying...

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep." She whispered. "I'm not that tired anymore." She bit her lip, the meaning behind her words dangling between them.

Bellamy swallowed hard, his gaze growing dark and his jaw tensing as he searched her eyes. Before she had time to think, his hands were moving up to her waist and deliberately smoothing down her hips, leaving a trail that burned sinfully under the shirt he had given her.

He stepped in dangerously close now, his voice rusted and deep as he let out a shuddering breath.

"I think....I think I could _help_ you with that. If you're willing to let me..."

The heat flushed in Clarke's cheeks, and she weakly nodded. 

Bellamy began to slowly lean forward until he was ghosting his lips over hers, brushing them so barely, so haltingly that every inch of her body exploded with want. 

But just before he could actually kiss her, a loud banging noise pierced the air- and they sprang apart so quickly it made her head spin.

"What the hell was that!?" Bellamy growled, and they both spun around.

Clarke froze. "I think it was coming from _the_   _front."_  Their eyes grew wide as they stared into the darkness of the hallway, and the sound came again, this time even louder. And then the banging was followed by a man's frantic voice shouting through the barricade of the door.

 _"Clarke!"_   The voice called from outside. _"A_ re _you in there!? It's Finn!"_

Clarke went white as a ghost, her hand flying over her mouth. "Oh my God-it can't be..."

Bellamy looked back at her, confused. "Who the fuck is _Finn_?"

She shook her head, barely able to find the words. "He's my...I mean he _was... my boyfriend."_

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! so I finally posted the sixth chapter- overcoming weeks of hectic schedules and a nasty case of writer's block. But I thought I would update this fic before my other one, since I've made you wait too long for this one already! Anyways, this chapter was really difficult for me to write so I hope you all enjoy it :)
> 
> And a huge thank you for all of your support so far! I'd love to see your comments and reviews on this one, it really fuels me to keep moving with this story a lot more quickly! :) Thank you!

 

 

Finn came barging through the door as soon as it was opened, like a ghost from Clarke's past with pale skin and rain-soaked clothes. His eyes were frantic as they landed on her, strands of chestnut hair slipping from his ponytail and plastering down the side of his neck.

"Clarke! You're alive!? He lunged forward and pulled her close, squeezing her in a vice-like embrace that left her panting for air.

"Finn..what the hell? How did you find me here!?"

He held her for a minute longer before he pulled away quickly, his fingers running over her skin and tilting her head to the side, assessing her for any injuries. He touched her so naturally, so instinctively that it made Clarke's skin flush with a familiar warmth, and it conjured up a world's worth of memories that she had fought so hard to suppress.

"I came looking for you..." He panted. "I followed your trail."

"You  _what?_ How!?"

"I knew that you were heading this way, so I broke away from the others to come find for you. There’s an old woman holed up in the gas station a mile outside of town- she said she heard an explosion and saw a girl being dragged into the woods by a group of men. I searched every inch of these woods until I found this house- hoping I could save you...” Then Finn’s gaze suddenly dropped to her neck, where the gash was still stinging from the alcohol. He grabbed her by the shoulders, “My God! What else have these guys done to you?! Where are they now? Clarke, I can get you out of here-”

But then a footstep landed behind them, and Finn spun around- his breath catching at the dark figure that loomed in the doorway.

"You're not taking her _anywhere_." The voice echoed through the walls of the old home, and Bellamy emerged from the shadows, his arms crossing over his chest.

Finn went rigid as he came face to face with the prisoner's black eyes in the darkness, looking every bit the wild, deranged animal that Finn had probably been expecting. 

And even now as Clarke observed Bellamy- the dried blood of his victims still cracking along his jaw line, the deep, feral edge to his voice as he hissed-

_“The girl stays right here.”_

-even now the tiny hairs on the back of her own neck still stood on edge.

 

Finn swallowed nervously, leaping in front of Clarke with his arms spread wide like a shield. But his voice cracked as he stammered- "Get...get away from her! I won't let you hurt her anymore!"

Bellamy groaned, rolling his eyes. "Please. I never _touched_ her you idiot."

“Then who the hell cut her throat?!”

He stiffened at Finn’s words. Bellamy's dark eyes flitted to Clarke’s, and she could still see the traces of shame buried there, like guilt-ridden scars lacing his otherwise savage appeal.

“Well… _I did_. But that’s over now, and it doesn't concern you.”

Finn scoffed. “Like hell it doesn't! Clarke get back!” He reached for something in his belt, drawing a pathetic looking dagger that only managed to earn a chuckle from Bellamy- an amused smirk creeping across the prisoner’s face.

“Is that all you got, pretty boy? You’re going to poke me with your  _toothpick_?”

 

But Clarke couldn’t stomach this power struggle any longer, and Finn’s hero routine was even more annoying than Bellamy’s had been. She ducked under Finn’s arm, launching herself to Bellamy’s side.

“Finn, just stop!"  She held out her palms, mediating the air between them. "Both of you!”

 _"Clarke!"_  Finn screeched. “What are you doing!? Are you crazy?!”

The exhaustion that eluded Clarke for hours was now slamming into her like a ton of bricks, making her feel dizzy. “I can’t handle this right now…” She mumbled, scrubbing her hand over her face. “Look Finn, a lot has happened since I’ve seen you last. Yes- I was traveling alone for awhile, but I found these guys- or more like  _they_  found  _me_ \- and they’re helping to keep me alive as I travel to the lab.” She cocked her head towards Bellamy. “ _Including him.”_

Finn’s eyes bounced warily between Bellamy and Clarke, the reality dawning over him as he lowered his dagger. “Oh.” He muttered, and he reluctantly pushed the knife back into the latch around his belt,"Sorry. Guess I just assumed..."

But Clarke could practically hear the gears still turning in Finn's head as he sized up the man beside her- trying to read the smooth, unruffled expression the prisoner donned so well. The hallway was wrought with the tension as the two men stared each other down, then Bellamy's lips curled up at the edges, grinning in that deceptive way that made Clarke's skin crawl.

_Or shiver._

“Well  _Finn,_ looks like you'll need to find yourself a new damsel in distress to rescue...” Bellamy stepped closer to Clarke, his voice seeping into a low growl. "Because this one's  _taken_."

Finn narrowed his eyes, and Clarke knew it was time to put an end to this dog fight before things escalated any further. And judging by the look on Bellamy's face- Finn would be lucky to get out of this one still breathing.

And as flattering as it was to have two grown men willing to risk their own skin for her safety, it was equally dangerous to have rifts forming between the last few survivors she could actually trust.

"Enough!" She demanded, wedging herself between them again. "I can take care of myself, and neither one of you has any claim over me.  _I'm_  making the decisions now, and I say that we need all the help we can get if we plan to make it to the lab alive. There's strength in numbers, so Finn- you can come with us. But only if you promise to trust these people, and stop acting like a child."

Finn winced at her accusation, but finally he deflated, nodding in agreement.

"And  _you._ " Clarke swiveled to face Bellamy. "If you really care about this cure as much as I  _know_  you do.." She hinted, "Then you will stop acting like a thug and learn to play nice with others. Finn was an avid hiker and wilderness tracker, and we could use his skills to steer clear of any enemies."

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest- but Clarke stepped in closer, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  _"I trust him Bellamy,_ but there's no reason that should threaten you. Because you know damn well that I trust you just as much now.." She punctuated her point by jabbing her finger against his bare chest. "And don't you _dare_ make me regret it."

Bellamy was silent as he stared down at Clarke, and before she could pull her hand away he reached up to grab her arm- snaking his calloused fingers around her delicate wrist as he held her firmly in place. Clarke tried not to flinch as the prisoner's dark eyes searched her face, rooting her to the ground in a way that felt almost protective- _possessive_ even.

And when finally he leaned into her ear to breathe- "Whatever you say, _Princess_." There was a surprising lack of venom in his voice.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Finn seemed all too eager to peel off his clothes, his tee-shirt landing on the floor behind him with a wet-sounding thud. When he reached down to undo his belt, Clarke stopped him.

"Wait- we don't have any other clothes here, so you may as well keep those on."

"Seriously?" He scrunched his nose. "These shorts are soaked, and they weigh like a ton. I thought I'd hang them to dry while we slept. And besides, you seem to be _just fine_ with that Bellamy guy walking around half naked..."

Clarke huffed at the obvious jealousy in her ex's voice, moving around him to sit on the bed. She had promised Finn he would be safe sleeping in the tiny room she now claimed as her own, and both she and Bellamy agreed it was best to keep him as far away from the second floor (and from Octavia) as humanly possible.

That being said- Bellamy wasn't all too thrilled at the idea of Finn sleeping near Clarke, the prisoner's mouth twisting down in a scowl as he watched them walking away. She remembered the way Bellamy's dark eyes had flickered with defeat as she closed the bedroom door behind them, shutting him out completely.

That exact image of Bellamy's face still burned in the back of her mind, but she filed it away with the rest of the painful memories and lost moments that too often slipped away in the darkness.

 

 _Good._ She told herself.  _The last thing any of us needs is to start caring about each other. To lose more people we love._

 

Clarke shook her head, "You don't know what you're talking about Finn. The only reason he's half-naked is so that I don't have to be. Bellamy gave me his shirt after mine got ruined."

Finn stared down at the ratty tank top that hung loosely from her frame, his eyebrow creeping up suspiciously. But then he shrugged it off, deciding not to press it any further.

"Look, I know it's been awhile since we've seen each other, but you have to believe me when I say that I've traveled a long way to find you, Clarke. I've been worried sick about you..."

Clarke curled her legs on the mattress, hugging her knees with her arms. "Don't. Just don't." She whispered.

The bed dipped as he sat beside her, and the familiar scent of her former lover's dew-covered skin trickled into her senses. His smell always reminded her of a crisp breeze at the turn of autumn, or the wisp of the ocean wind at her parent's summer house when she was a child. It was one reason she always managed to feel so comfortable, and so safe in his presence.

Finn had been like a savior to her once, but in a much simpler time. A time when the cities and the streets weren't running red with blood, and the souls of the walking damned didn't haunt her every waking moment- making each day more excruciating than the next.

 

 Finn leaned closer, his fingers coming up to card through Clarke's curls- and a tiny smile flared on his lips. "You're hair is so curly now. It's so much longer than I've ever seen it."

"Yeah, well it grows pretty well when it isn't falling out in chunks." She huffed. "Or when it's not caked in vomit."

He chuckled, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers. "I told you not to eat all that lasagna before your treatment. You never listened."

Clarke felt the tension building in her throat now, and she suddenly squeezed her eyes shut- letting the memories of a previous life wash over her.

 

_Clarke sat alone in the waiting room, drumming her knuckles nervously against the chair. When her name was called, it took all the courage she had to tear her eyes away from the floor- because after today she knew she couldn't pretend anymore. She couldn't pretend like everything was okay. She lived in fear of the day that she would look into a mirror- only to see a lifeless, balding girl staring back at her, somebody she wouldn't even be able to recognize. Somebody whose time was running out faster than she could have ever imagined._

_She winced as the nurse put the needle in her skin, watching in a quiet wonder as the crystal liquid snaked through the tube and disappeared into her arm. Then the nurse walked away, leaving her alone. But it's what she wanted, she demanded that her parents not be there. She couldn't stand them seeing her like this, so helpless and fragile- their only daughter withering away into nothing._

_But as the needle felt colder against her skin, and the icy liquid seeped further through her veins...her thoughts began to race. The white walls of the hospital started closing in on her- sucking the oxygen from her lungs. She could feel the silent panic rolling in, like a dark, ominous cloud that smothered her- making her stomach twist into knots._

_Or maybe that was the medicine, because the next thing she knew she was throwing up, her hands cupping her mouth as the bile spilled between her fingers and dripped into puddles on the floor.  Clarke whimpered as her tears turned to acid against her eyes and the sobs choked at her throat, when suddenly a bucket appeared beneath her- almost out of thin air._

And _then she felt a warm hand rubbing slow circles into her back, and she looked up._

_"Hi." Said a man's voice._

_Clarke blinked through her tears, coming face to face with soft brown eyes and a halo of flowing chestnut hair hovering above her. The man beamed down at her, like the angel of mercy staring into the eyes of the hideous monster._

_"Did I die yet?" She whispered. "Please tell me this is Heaven."_

_The man chuckled. "I certainly hope not. It wouldn't look good for me to lose a patient on the first day of her treatment." He handed her a washcloth for her face. "The first day can sometimes be tough on the stomach, but I promise you it won't always be this bad. By the way, I'm Dr. Collins, I'm in my residency here at Ark Memorial. I'll be seeing you through the next few weeks of chemo."_

_Then Clarke finally sat up, smoothing her hair out of her face, and her blue eyes met his. "Nice to meet you Doctor." She mumbled, wiping the vomit from her lips._

_The man stared at her for a long moment, and then smiled even wider than before."Please...call me Finn."_

 

She opened her eyes.

"You okay?" He asked, scooting closer on the bed as Clarke blinked herself back to reality.

"Huh? Oh yeah." She cleared her throat, shaking the thoughts from mind. "I was just thinking that we should really get some sleep."

Finn reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze growing fonder as he cupped the side of her face, and she instinctively leaned into his touch.

"God Clarke... all I could think about was getting to you, and praying that you were still alive. Hoping that I wasn't already too late-"

She pressed her lips together, starting to pull away. "Don't say those things. You had a _wife_." 

"But we were separated, you always knew that." He pointed out.

"Yes- but what I _didn't_ know was that you would take off when the virus hit, I didn't expect you to go running after her and leave me behind to fend for myself!"

Finn grew silent at her words, his gaze shifting to the floor. When he finally responded his tone was humble, filled a virtuous shame. "I felt like it was my duty to protect her too, Clarke. I never meant for you and I to lose each other. And I honestly thought you would be safe with the others while I was gone..I had no idea they would turn on you like that-" His voice cracked in his throat, dropping to a whisper. "I was coming back for you Clarke... I _came_ back for you."

Clarke stared ahead blankly, her blue eyes fixing on nothing in the distance.

"Well you came back too late."

 

Then she crawled under the covers and pretended to fall sleep.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------ 

 

 

When early morning came,  Finn was still buried under the sheets and snoring away as Clarke crept from the room, and Monty and Jasper were sleeping soundly on the couches.

Clarke had been hoping to catch Bellamy early enough so they could discuss their plans in private, but apparently he was nowhere to be found. Until she heard the crack of an axe against solid wood, and she looked out the window to find the prisoner in the front yard, chopping a tree trunk in half. 

She wandered out on the patio, just as the sun was breaking over the horizon and bathing the woods in a hazy morning glow. Dawn had always been Clarke's favorite time of day. In graduate school she often took early morning jogs before class, just so she could smell the freshness in the air and treasure the temporary peace in the world before it became tainted by others.

But everything was different out here. Tucked deep into the back-woods of Louisiana, the morning air was tinged with a palpable loneliness, an eerie sense of stillness that came rolling in with the fog. It was almost like the feeling you'd get from walking through a graveyard, that feeling of undisturbed calm that made you shiver- forcing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

 She approached Bellamy slowly, watching the soft rays glisten off his tan skin as he cut the stump cleanly in half. She stopped for a moment, fascinated by the sheer power with which he swung the axe, the way the muscles in his back bunched and shifted with every stroke. After a minute his shoulders stiffened as he seemed to sense her presence, and he turned to face her-his chest still heaving. There was something almost somber in his gaze as she approached, and he lowered the axe, acknowledging her with a brisk nod.

Clarke stopped beside him, eyeing the butchered trunk. "What are you doing with all this wood, are you planning on building a campfire or something?"

"No." Bellamy grumbled, looking away. "I was testing out this axe I found back in the shed. I figured I should practice swinging it a few times before taking it with me."

"Like a weapon?" She asked.

"Yes, like a weapon." He answered dryly.

Clarke nodded, and they both fell silent as they gazed out over the trees- surveying the landscape side by side. She noticed a heaviness that lingered between them now, a tension that came radiating off Bellamy in waves with every step she moved nearer. Almost like she wasn't welcome there-standing so close to him.

She finally cleared her throat. "Why are you up so early? You look like you've been working out here for hours." She had honestly tried to ignore the sheen of sweat that dripped between every crevice of his body, but especially up this close, it was nearly impossible to miss.

Bellamy's eyes flickered to hers.

"I couldn't sleep. So I got up before sunrise and decided to catch some food for Octavia." He cocked his head towards a blood-covered bag sitting near the base of a tree. "It's mostly squirrels and rabbits. I figured I'd get as much as I can to hold her over until we get back." He suddenly wrapped his fingers around the handle of the axe again, lifting it in the air to admire the gleam of it's blade. "And I used this for hunting practice too."

He said that last part so coolly, _like he was so accustomed to murdering things these days._

Then she remembered how he'd killed his cellmates without so much as batting an eye, and was boldly reminded of just how cruel he really could be.

"So that's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. Are you planning on just leaving Octavia chained up to the sink while we travel?"

Bellamy's mouth tightened as she questioned him, he ran his bloody fingers through his dark curls, and Clarke watched as the smudges of red splotched across his forehead. She winced.

"Yeah well I don't like it either-" He snapped, "..but what other choice do I have? She'd probably be killed if we brought her along, or she'd end up killing one of us. And as much as I love my sister Clarke, I'm not stupid enough to have her travel with me." He moved to face her abruptly. "Worst of all, she could kill  _you."_

Clarke's eyes widened, her mind buzzing as she tried to absorb his words. Was he saying he actually cared about her? Or that he only cared about getting the cure?

Either way her stomach twisted into knots, and she huffed out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, I guess I'm no good to anyone if I'm dead, now am I?"

But Bellamy just looked at her, his dark eyes more guarded than before- his expression giving nothing away. The closeness they'd shared earlier was clearly dissolving now, and whatever bond they'd developed in the midst of their break-downs had quickly receded, leaving behind this stilted alliance that neither of them seemed to understand.

"Well." She stepped even closer, his eyes following her every movement. "I think you're making the right choice Bellamy. You're giving your sister the only decent chance she has of surviving."

Bellamy held her gaze for a moment longer, and then turned back to the stump and slammed the axe through it with a terrifying crack. Clarke nearly jumped straight out of her skin.

"So tell me Princess..." He grunted out, swinging the axe behind his shoulder again. "Did you enjoy your romantic little _reunion_ with pretty-boy last night?"

Clarke folded her arms over chest, fighting back the knowing smirk that threatened to spread across her lips.

"Does it matter? What business is it of yours?"

Bellamy scoffed, crashing the axe back down and exploding the wood to pieces. " _Thought so_." He growled, his chest heaving furiously as he tossed the axe off to the side. He turned away, sweeping up the bag of animals and stalking off towards the house.

Clarke wasn't sure why, but she found herself following him. "Things aren't like that between Finn and I anymore." She shot back, rushing to keep up with him. "I used to love him once, but he betrayed my trust. So nothing happened between us last night, if that's what you're acting so angry about..."

Bellamy quickly spun back around, and Clarke yelped as she nearly slammed into his chest. She glanced up at him- his tan, blood spattered face was hovering inches above her own. His full lips twisted into a grimace, and he smugly raised his brow. "Who the hell said I was _angry_? I just don't trust that guy Clarke. I don't trust him traveling with us, and I certainly don't trust him near  _you."_

Her breath hitched at his admission, and she forced herself to ignore whatever gnawing feeling was building deep in her chest. She lifted her chin, letting her next words slip out of her like poison. "Yeah? Well that sounds like a bunch of _bullshit_ to me. Dammit Bellamy, look around you! This is the end of the world, and you're going to act this childish because I slept next to Finn instead of you! We could all die tomorrow, and your really _that_ worried about who I'm fucking?" She sneered, rolling her eyes. "That's just embarrassing...you need to get your head in the game and get your priorities straight." 

Suddenly Bellamy lurched closer, his fingers roughly grabbing at her chin- forcing her to look up at him. His black eyes were searing into her with such a painful intensity that she could literally feel the burn marks in every place they landed.

Clarke was overcome with an astounding urge to touch him again, to bury herself in his heat and feel his wrath smothering her- suffocating her in a way that would be both savage and sweet at the same time.

Like everything else about him.

"You know what I think _._." His voice lowered to a smooth, sultry rumble- but his words held enough bitterness to make her shiver. "I think you're nothing but a scared little girl. You walk around acting all big and tough, like you're so above everything that's happening around you. Like you're so above feeling anything at all...but the reality is that you're terrified, and you can't hide that fear as well you think you can. I can see it in those pretty blue eyes of yours every single second, but most of all I see it whenever you're looking at _me_. I frighten you a lot more than you're willing to admit, but it's not the kind of fear you pretend it is, and you're just too damn chicken to admit it. So why don't you just direct some of that advice towards yourself, _Princess,_ and get your own fucking priorities in line." Then he ripped his fingers from her chin, backing away.

Clarke felt paralyzed, feeling like her insides were shutting down one by one, her mouth gaping in awe. There was a new fire rising in the pit of her stomach now, an emotion that burned her from the inside out- winding up her flesh and clawing it's way into her heart. And it certainly wasn't hatred.

And he was right. _It did terrify her._

"Fuck you..." She hissed, her voice more acidic than ever. "You're just a nobody- a lousy scumbag criminal, and I can't wait until I never have to see your face again."

Bellamy's lips curled up into a grin, his gaze darkening as he let out a sick, menacing laugh. "You want to make me into the villain here, Clarke? Fine-I'd be _happy_ to play the part. Because trust me, all I care about is getting my sister the cure. Once I get you're freak-blood in Octavia, you're no good to me anymore. And I won't be sticking around to protect your sorry little ass, let alone care if you live or die. And trust me Princess, that day can't come _soon_ enough."

Then without another word, Bellamy tore away and bounded up the steps- shoving past Monty and Jasper as they stood gawking at them from the porch. She and Bellamy had clearly been so engulfed in their hatred, that they hadn't even noticed that the two lab interns had been standing there watching the entire scene play out before them.

"Hey.. _"_ Jasper fidgeted. "Sorry, but the two of you fighting sort of woke us up."

But Clarke stood rooted to the ground, trying to find the nerve to piece herself back together in the wake of Bellamy's storm, to make herself seem less crippled than she really was. She sucked in a breath and straightened her shoulders, calling out to the boys as assuredly as possible-

"Jasper." She nodded. "Monty. I'm glad you two are up now, we need to get back on the road as soon as possible. So gather your stuff, we leave in five minutes."

They both stared at her for another second, their eyes shifting uncomfortably between them. Then Clarke gathered herself as best she could, marching past them on the porch and slamming the door shut behind her with a resounding thud.

 

She spent the next five minutes packing her supplies and sharpening the edge of her blade, all the while cursing the day she ever met Bellamy Blake.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated! Sorry it's been so long, I have to admit I sort of lost my mojo on this one. But I've been watching a lot of the Walking Dead, and the perfection that is Daryl Dixon (especially the Beth/Daryl thing) has completely inspired me.
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it (by enjoyed I mean- shut myself off like a recluse, yelled at my boyfriend to leave me alone, drank wine, and lost lots of sleep- which is basically my creative process.)
> 
> But what helps the absolute most were comments from readers that kept rolling in asking me to update, because honestly you guys- your encouragement is what makes it happen!  
> Thank you so much!! And I would really appreciate more of your reviews on this chapter- tell me what you think about how the story is turning out- oh and disclaimer...there may be some character deaths here. Just MAYBE.
> 
> Please enjoy and I can't wait to hear your amazing thoughts and reviews!! :)

The Louisiana sun was vicious as ever that day, and by noon the sun was beating down in relentless waves of blistering heat as they walked along the tracks, without so much as a single gust of wind to relieve them. Clarke’s hair was drenched with perspiration as the blonde strands plastered along her back and neck, and her tongue felt like sandpaper every time she swiped it across her lips.

As if surviving this wasteland wasn’t impossible enough, she now felt a new sort of danger looming over their heads, one that blurred her vision and nipped at the edges of her brain- causing her eyelids to feel burnt and heavy with every passing second.

She wished she could fall to her knees and drain every last drop of water from Monty’ bag as it dangled cruelly in front of her, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Both Finn and Bellamy were eyeing the refrigerated back-pack as well, but a single glance towards Jasper would make any of them drop their eyes in frustration.

Because the rule between all of them wasn't nearly as official as it was implied- and Clarke had decided that their only reserve for cold, crisp water was to be saved exclusively for _Jasper_. To be fair- the guy was still nursing an amateur amputation at Bellamy’s hand, and Clarke had long since suspected that the beads of sweat along Jasper’s forehead and the red shadows under his eyes were due to more than just the heat.

 “He doesn't look so good.” Finn leaned to whisper in her ear. "But come to think of it, neither do you. You look nearly sun-stroked."

Clarke sucked in a breath and stared straight ahead, her eyes following the planks of the railroad tracks as they stretched out before them, winding around a corner and disappearing into oblivion.

“I'm fine.”

“There’s a lot of water in there, do you think you could just…”

“ _No.”_ She snapped. “If we're really that thirsty, than we can drink from our own.”

Finn cringed, lifting up the flimsy plastic bag that he twisted around his fingers.  Bellamy had found a stockpile of old grocery bags under the sink before they left,  and each of them were instructed to fill them with as much water as they could hold, tying them haphazardly at the top as a sort of last-ditch attempt at a water bottle.

“There’s nothing left in it, not to mention the water was hot within minutes and melted right through.”

Clarke clutched at her own bag, and the heat from the plastic practically burned her fingertips. She cringed to think of how the water would likely scorch the lining of her throat if she actually _drank_ it, and suddenly her mouth felt even more parched than before. “I didn't have you travel with us to hear you complain, Finn. If you drank your water too quickly then that’s on you.”

He scoffed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m confused here? Aren’t YOU the one were supposed to be worried about? Your blood is basically an anti-virus for humanity's survival, and somehow you think it’s noble to sacrifice your own health for someone else's?”

Clarke could feel her teeth beginning to clench. "Every life is important."

" _Clarke_." Finn lightly grabbed her by the wrist, stepping in front of her to block her path. "I'm a doctor. I basically committed my life to saving others, so usually I would agree with you. But this time is different and I won't let you hurt yourself just to save the life of a boy you barely know. Besides, just by looking at him I can tell he has all the tell-tale signs of blood poisoning- which means he will likely die within a couple days- water or not."

She crossed her arms, her eyes reluctantly moving to Jasper's gaunt, dragging form as the group continued to walk on without them. "What exactly are you trying to say here, Finn?" 

"I'm _saying_ -" He paused to lower his voice. "I'm saying that the cold water won't make a difference, it isn't going to save him. You should be more concerned about keeping _yourself_ hydrated, not him."

Clarke could feel her teeth clenching so hard they were practically grinding into nubs now, and she wasn't sure if she was more disgusted at Finn for what he was implying- or herself for actually considering it. Still- she could see the way Finn was watching Jasper, staring at him in that medical, calculating way of his that didn't hold so much as a hint of pity, like he'd already written him off completely.

She'd seen that same look in the eyes of the nurses back when she was in chemo, holding no real interest for a girl who was likely one foot in the grave anyways. She could shudder even now at the memory of such a feeling, to have people look you straight in the eye and see nothing more than an expiration date-or worse- a _ghost._

Clarke straightened her shoulders and ripped her arm free from his grasp. "The cold water's for Jasper. End of discussion."

But Finn wasn't bought so easily, he adjusted his grip to Clarke's wrist and yanked her in tow, jogging to catch them up with the rest of the travelers. Apparently the heat was dazing everyone that day- since nobody seemed to notice them trailing behind in the first place. But what Finn did next seemed so wholly out of character that Clarke nearly choked on her own disbelief.

" _Bellamy!!"_ Finn roared, loud enough to wake every living-or dead- creature in a mile wide radius. Monty turned to shoot him a reproachful look, pressing his fingers to his lips to remind him to keep his voice down.

Bellamy had been quiet all day, silently leading the way as the rag-tag group of misfits journeyed through the endless expanse of barren, sun-scorched fields and rusted train tracks. He drudged along like the invincible warrior that Clarke knew he believed himself to be, the golden knight who dutifully led his inferior subjects through battle.

He and Clarke hadn't spoken a word since their blow up from earlier, and all morning Clarke couldn't help but stare in bitter hatred at every tiny bead of sweat that glistened like diamonds off Bellamy's skin, carving their way down the rippling muscles of his back until they disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

It wasn't until Finn had pushed past Monty and Jasper and dragged Clarke to the front of the group, that Bellamy's gaze lazily shifted in his direction.

"Bellamy!" Finn shouted. "Clarke clearly is experiencing heat stroke, I think she needs to drink from Monty's cooler-pack."

There was the faint sound of Monty huffing out a noise of protest, his arm instinctively clutching at his friend's water reserve.

"The cold water's for Jasper." Bellamy said. 

"What!?" Finn rushed to keep pace with the prisoner's longer, more powerful strides. "How can you say that? Aren't you supposed to be the one  _protecting_ Clarke? Isn't that the whole reason you're here?"

Bellamy peered sideways at Clarke, acknowledging her existence for the first time since they'd left the house. But it was only for the briefest of moments before his dark eyes quickly flitted away again. As if she was the last person in the world he wanted to see.

She scoffed, because the feeling was mutual.

"She looks fine to me." Bellamy stated dryly, without the slightest shred of interest in his voice.

Finn folded his arms across his chest. "So you're just going to let her pass out then? Is that it?"

"Finn! I told you I was fine-" But even Clarke's words were cut off by a wave of nausea as she exerted herself, the heat beating against her skin and making her head feel both heavy and light at the same time, and she stumbled slightly to the side.

"Shit- _Clarke!_ " Finn rushed over, reaching his hand out to steady her. "This isn't funny anymore Bellamy, she needs the cold water.. _now!_ "

Bellamy groaned and with a valiant effort, finally turned to face them- but his callous gaze seemed instantly drawn to Finn's arm and the way it curled around Clarke's waist, and the prisoner's jaw tensed so slightly that Clarke couldn't be sure she wasn't imagining it.

He quickly trained his eyes forward again. "She's a big girl, she can handle herself. If she wants to save the water for Jasper, then let her."

Finn sputtered out a frantic, nonsensical argument as Clarke wriggled free from his grip. But eventually Bellamy's patience wore thin and he swung back around, nostrils flaring.

"Enough!" He growled. "If the Princess is dumb enough to let herself die from heat exhaustion, then _fucking_   _let her!"_

All four of them froze, Monty and Jasper's mouths hanging open in disbelief.

Clarke fought hard to school her features- steeling herself against the severity of Bellamy's words. She tried to look as unaffected as possible, but the icy feeling of the prisoner's indifference crept over her skin and sank it's way inside her heart. And even though she told herself that she never really trusted him in the first place, she felt the sting of his abandonment all the same.

The prisoner stepped closer, his shirtless body heaving with sweat and fury as he towered over Finn,the two men staring each other down.

"If that's how you feel-" Finn accused. "Then why the hell are you even here!?"

Bellamy narrowed his eyes, his words slithering out like a cold, unfeeling hiss from his lips- "Because your girlfriend is too damn stubborn to let anybody help her, so I'm _done_ trying. I'm only here to deliver her blood to the lab, whether she's alive or not when that happens makes no fucking difference to me."

Clarke barely had time to process the way her pulse stuttered, before stopping her heart completely.

She didn't even notice the way Finn had started towards the prisoner, she couldn't see anything at all because her world began to fade into blackness, her body bending like a blade of grass in the wind before careening backwards into thin air. And the last thing she remembered as the ground slipped out from under her, was the feeling of Finn's arms catching her body and the unmistakable sound of a deep, breathy voice screaming her name.

 

\----

_"I'll always be there for you Princess..." her father said. "But you can't keep living like you're waiting to die...like you're afraid of feeling anything real, just so it can't be ripped away from you in the end. If we don't have the courage to take chances, then what good is being alive in the first place?"_

 

A burst of wet, cold reality shocked her system, dragging Clarke out of her heat-induced coma. The water splashing on her face clouded her vision as her lids fluttered, and she could barely make out the face hovering above her own. But the fear in his voice as he called to her, his muscles tightening around her back as she hung limp and lifeless in his arms- she recognized the gentleness of his touch to be none other than Finn's.

And for a brief and shining moment she remembered why she had once loved this person, why she had trusted her heart in the hands of a man who would always be there for her in the darkest of times, whether she was crying on the floor of the chemo-ward, or losing consciousness on railroad tracks at the end of the world. And it was nothing more than the sheer desperation in the way he pleaded her name, begging for her to come back to him- that finally lured her to her senses.

But as Clarke faintly blinked through her haze, she found herself gazing back into a much darker pair of eyes than she expected.

Because it wasn't Finn who had caught her, it was _Bellamy_.

"Clarke.." He rasped again, his deep voice cracking in his throat. He leaned down to rest his head forehead against hers, whispering-"Say something. _.please_."

A painful cough bubbled out from her chest.

She barely murmured- " _Something_." And then she could feel the relief easing through the prisoner's muscles as he cradled her in his arms.

Bellamy let out a small, husky laugh against her lips. "You really gotta stop passing out on me, Princess. Or else I might think you're doing this on purpose."

She wasn't sure if it was the heat from the sun, or the weakness from fainting, or possibly the way Bellamy was looking at her now- his dark eyes searching her face in a way that was raw and unnerving, as if they were admitting something to her that his mouth never could.

It was such a startling shift from just a minute ago- when he brutally declared his hatred for her,  not to mention his complete indifference for her life.

But whatever it was, she could barely string enough thoughts together to form a capable sentence. So instead, she just laughed weakly back at him, and watched the prisoner's lips tugging up into a wary smile that matched her own.

 

For the first time since the world had ended, Clarke wanted to freeze this tiny sliver of time and etch it deep into her mind, because in dark ages like these- the only sanctuaries you are granted are the ones you carry with you- the fragments of memory that remind you that the world isn't always such a cruel and hopeless place. And here and now in this moment with Bellamy, she was reminded of just that.

 

And then a throat cleared behind them.

 

"I think she can stand on her _own_ now.." 

 

The frustrated voice obviously belonged to Finn, and Clarke was surprised at how far away it sounded.

Bellamy grunted in response, carefully lifting her to her feet and unwinding her from his arms. But this time when his hand lingered along her back to steady her, Clarke didn't pull away.

"Thanks." She whispered.

Finn was at her side in a heartbeat, taking her face in his hands. "Are you okay!? You were out for nearly five minutes, I tried to resuscitate you but _he- "_ He shot Bellamy a glare- "wouldn't let go of you."

Clarke felt Bellamy's fingertips brush along her skin as he pulled his hand away.

"I'm fine." She assured them, smoothing her matted curls with her palms, trying to re-gain the slightest bit of composure. "Let's just drop it."

But Jasper and Monty could barely contain their excitement as they raced forward to hug her, engulfing her in a dual vice-like embrace that left her panting for breath.

"We thought we almost lost you!" Jasper cried, and Clarke gazed worriedly at the deepening red circles under the taller boy's eyes- noticing how his breath came in short bursts and his voice seemed strained with fatigue.

"Jasper, you need to drink more water. You're too dehydrated."

Monty's eyes fell to the ground, almost ashamed. "If I'd known you needed it that badly-"

"I'm  _fine."_ Clarke demanded. "He needs it more."

"Well it's half gone, Bellamy stole the pack and poured the water down your throat when you passed out." Monty huffed, glancing at the prisoner. "So much for not caring if she lives or dies, huh?"

Bellamy said nothing, he just stared absently into the woods, tightening his grip around the machete.

Clarke had half a mind to start scolding the prisoner about wasting Jasper's water, when suddenly a piercing noise sounded off in the direction of Bellamy's gaze. They all went rigid, clutching their weapons and swiveling their heads on a pivot, surveying the landscape for any signs of a possible threat.

After a long moment of tense silence, Finn's shoulders relaxed as he caught sight of a small rabbit hopping out from under the rusting bushes.

He laughed, dropping his dagger to the side. "Dammit you guys, It's just a bunny. I really think this heat is making us paranoid-"

Then the piercing sound filled their ears again, this time twisting into a shrill and blood-curdling scream, like something you'd expect to hear echoing straight from the gates of hell. An infected creature leaped forward from the bushes and  landed with a torturous crunch on top of the bunny, immediately tearing the tiny animal from limb to limb and devouring it to pieces.

"Stand back!" Bellamy drew up his machete, the sunlight catching on the gleam of it's monstrous blade. He moved deftly to circle the zombie, but it's decaying, lifeless eyes lifted to meet his own and suddenly it lunged towards him, teeth gnashing.

Clarke clamped her hand over mouth to stifle her screams as the creature pinned Bellamy to the ground, she instinctively ran forward to help him- but Finn and Monty dragged her behind, holding her back and blocking her view of the carnage.

"No!!" She begged. "Let me go, I have to save him!"

"You _can't_ save him!" Finn grabbed her cheeks again, forcing her frantic eyes on his face. "Focus on me. Breathe- just breathe. There's nothing you can do for him now, just _breathe_."

"No!" She screamed again, and the feel of it burned in her throat as the tears swelled around her eyes. "I can't- I can't..."

Then the sound of bone crunching and flesh tearing, and everything fell silent. The emptiness filled the air as every one of their hearts ceased beating in unison, and Clarke thought she might crumple beneath the weight of the hollowness.

The wind whooshed and whirled around them, much more tumultuous than before, and Clarke realized a second too late that a flock of arrows were cascading across the sky- floating so gracefully at first, and then plummeting down at them with terrifying, razor-sharp accuracy- one plunging directly in the side of her knee.

This time, Clarke's screams nearly shattered her own ear drums, matched by the agonizing cries of Finn, Monty, and Jasper as the arrows pierced their bodies and sent them all flying backwards. She reached for them, her fingers trembling and stretching out into nothing, not a single soul left breathing to save her from this nightmare.

Everything she had fought to believe in had been ripped away from her in the blink of an eye. A throbbing pain radiated across her forehead, and her world quietly fell away.

 

Clarke closed her eyes, hoping that peace would find her at last.

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

She opened her eyes again.

 

She groaned, because she could still feel a sharp pain burning in her kneecap- which meant she must still be alive, and she quietly damned her fates for not allowing her that one simple mercy.

 

Her blue, vacuous eyes stared up into an endless abyss of crumbling brick stones. It was some sort of ceiling hovering above her, a room shrouded in absolute darkness aside from the hazy streams of starlight dispensing from a window beside her.

Some type of hut, or possibly a shed- her brain told her. Like the ones the southern farmers may have used to house their farming equipment. She had hidden in a similar type of barn once before, back when she was still traveling on her own.

Her heart sank in her stomach, and the dank, musty air she drew in her lungs stabbed like a million needles in her chest- because she was coldly reminded that she was once again traveling alone. Once again, forced to push aside the horrors she'd lived and the people who'd slipped between her fingers, only to be ripped out of her life as quickly as they'd come.

 

But then she noticed a soft flickering of red and yellow light coming from behind her, only catching her eye because it danced in squiggly lines on the far corner of the brick wall. She slowly pushed herself up by her palms, wincing as she curled her leg under her, a sharp hiss of pain escaping her lips as she rolled herself over on all fours, finally looking up.

 

Nearly ten feet away, a condensed but blazing fire burned over a small pile of tree bark and wood- producing just enough heat to set the dark barn aglow with the soft smell of firelight and ash.

She squinted her eyes to perceive a blackened, shadowy figure of a person crouching beside the flames, their back turned to her. Their head was bowed and they remained motionless, as if lost in some sort of solitude or prayer.

 

Clarke wondered if this was one of the invisible people who had sent the arrows soaring through the sky, skewering her friends- and then for some reason capturing her and keeping her in this barn. She wondered if she should try and escape before they realized that she had woken, but she only sighed. Because she didn't even have enough courage to fear for her life anymore.

She started to crawl across the floor, her nails digging into stone and dirty shreds of hay as she dragged herself , her left leg hanging limply behind. She wasn't more than five feet away before the figure's shoulders seemed to tense slightly, but still making no move to turn around.

 

Then a low, rusty voice spoke to her over the crackle of the flames.

"You're doing it on purpose now, _aren't_ _you_?"

 

Clarke blinked, because the voice sounded faintly familiar- as if it'd called out to her once in a dream. But the cadence of it was skewed, distorted by the ripples of heat, so she couldn't be sure.

"Ex... _excuse_ me?" Clarke whispered, still crawling closer.

Finally the shadow turned, and she could just barely make out the dark eyes staring out at her from a savagely torn and blood-spattered face.

"I _told_ you not to pass out on me anymore. I'm pretty sure that's the third time in two days... _Princess._ "

The blood froze in her veins.

Then an electric sensation sparked along the edges of her heart- as if trying to bring her back to life. _  
_

"Be...Bellamy?" She croaked out. "You're alive?"

"In the flesh."

"But I....I thought that zombie killed you?"

Bellamy only chuckled darkly, but the sound of it didn't touch his eyes. "Almost. But I killed it first."

Clarke vaguely recalled the sound of flesh and bone crunching back on the tracks, and she sighed in relief.

_But wait- if he was still alive, then maybe..._

 

"What about the others Bellamy? What happened to the rest of our people?" She choked, hearing the desperation in her voice.

Bellamy's gaze shifted back over the fire once more, and she could sense a new sort of grim hollowness creeping up into his features. "Jasper is dead." He whispered roughly. "An arrow stabbed him through the chest."

Clarke's breath hitched, a flash of Jasper's bright, goofy smile lit up her memory- and then faded away into darkness.

"And...and the  _rest?_ " She trembled.

Bellamy looked at her again, his eyes blacker and more daunting than ever in the roaring light of the flames.

He cleared his throat. "I don't know. The arrows were flying everywhere and they were both injured...but once Monty saw that Jasper was dead, he just...  _took_ _off._ "

Clarke swallowed hard and nodded, because she couldn't exactly blame Monty for trying to run away during a brutal attack- especially one that seemed so hopeless.

"And _Finn_?" She asked.

 

 A heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air between them. She steeled herself, preparing to hear the fate of the man she once loved.

 

"He was bleeding." He answered, after a long and torturous pause. "But last I saw, he was still alive..."  Bellamy's voice trailed off, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment, before slowly reaching forward to curl his bloody fingers around Clarke's palm. He looked her in the eye, "I'm sorry Clarke, but Finn _also_ ran away." 

His words hit her like the sharp side of a blade, dragging across her skin and sinking in her gut.

But even now she to admit to herself that she wasn't exactly blindsided, after all- Finn had left her behind once before

 

Clarke stuttered, trying to control the tightness in her throat. "Well I...I guess I can't blame him for abandoning me. It's his right to try and survive, after all."

Bellamy's dark eyes searched her face as his grip subtly tightened around her fingers. He pressed his lips together, as if wanting to tell her that she was wrong- that Finn was selfish, and he had no right to abandon her. But instead he said nothing, only nodding in reply.

 

Clarke winced in pain as she sank down beside Bellamy, and together they stared out over the flames, with nothing but the sounds of their breathing to fill the silence.

It felt like the world was standing still and all that existed was the hiss and crackle of the fire as it crept up the logs and turned them to dust. As if this dark, tiny barn would forever shield them from the horrors that awaited them on the other side.

_How she wished that was true._

 

Several minutes went by...or possibly hours, before either of them spoke again.

 

"So what were those things, anyway?" Clarke finally asked.

She didn't have to explain, because Bellamy already knew what she meant.

"Cannibals." He said. " I thought most of them had been wiped out by now, but apparently I was wrong." He shook his head, "I should have _known_ when I saw that zombie wandering alone. The cannibals were known to distract travelers with a zombie, and then shoot arrows at their prey when they weren't looking. We basically walked right into their trap."

Despite the heat from the fire Clarke could feel an icy shiver run along her spine. _Cannibals- As if this world couldn't get any more repulsive._

Bellamy took a deep breath, and there was a glint of something darker in his eyes.

"An arrow hit you in the knee before they knocked you unconscious with a rock- I'm assuming so they could eat you fresh. But they didn't see me coming.." He paused, his jaw clenching furiously."So I gunned them all down with the AK47. But not before I slit their throats and let them bleed out, those filthy fucking animals."

Clarke's eyes widened. Because it was only in this moment it occurred to her that _Bellamy_ was the reason she was still alive. This cold, limited man beside her was the only person who had stood between her and a grisly, nightmarish death at the hands of the cannibals.

And when she glanced over to watch the firelight flickering across his golden, blood-drenched skin- the blood of countless people that he had shed for  _her-_ he suddenly looked a lot less like a monster or even a murderer, and much more like the savior he truly was.

An unfamiliar warmth began to prickle along her skin, and she knew it had absolutely nothing to do with the fire burning in front of them. She needed to thank Bellamy, or tell him that he had somehow restored her faith in humanity if even for a moment, but when she opened her mouth to say these things, the only words that tumbled from her lips were-

 _"_ How the hell did you get me here?"

Bellamy picked up a brittle, crumbling twig and stoked it casually into the flames. She watched as the fiery tendrils sparked and curled higher towards the ceiling.

"I carried you." He said simply, as if in passing. "I ran with you in my arms for six hours, and I didn't stop until I found this barn." He motioned with the twig towards her injured leg. "I used this fire to heat my blade and cauterize that wound in your knee."

 

Clarke couldn't help the amazed smile that spread across her face, because he must have been paying very close attention to the way she treated Jasper's arm. A slightly disbelieving,  _"Wow"_  - was all she could manage.

Then his grip on the twig seemed to loosen as it fell from his fingers, and Bellamy turned to her with his eyebrow raised skeptically.

"You're surprised aren't you? You expected _me_ to be the one who would leave you behind."

Clarke's first instinct was to lie, but one look into his penetrating eyes and she knew he could see right through her.

"Yes." She said, her voice strong and even as she stared back at him. "In the end, I didn't expect it to be you and I."

Bellamy held her gaze unwavering, and there was a barely perceptible twitch in the corner of his lips as his eyes dropped to the ground between them. "Trust me, I didn't expect it either."

 

Her teeth dug into her lip, because now was one of those moments went she felt like she should say something,  _anything,_ but before she could get another word in Bellamy cleared his throat briskly-  

"We leave at first light, so you should get a few more hours of sleep. I need you as healed as possible before we travel to the lab tomorrow."

Clarke nodded, she could already feel her eyes growing heavy as the heat from the fire dampened her thoughts. She carefully leaned down on her elbow and eased the rest of her body on the floor. She closed her eyes and let the soft crackle of flames fill her senses, but her body was still yearning for a different type of reprieve. She was exhausted in more ways than one, and this warm, solid ground wasn't nearly enough to save her from the nightmares and the ghosts running rampant behind her eyes.

So it was then that Clarke, in a half-conscious state, dragged herself closer to Bellamy and collapsed down next to him, this time letting her head fall gently in his lap.

She could just barely feel the way the prisoner's body tensed and his breath faltered along the back of her neck- but after a moment his chest heaved with a sharp sigh, and he relaxed around her. She wriggled her shoulder against his leg, burrowing herself deeper as her eyelids fell shut once more, with both the fire and Bellamy's warmth wrapped around her like a shield from the night.

A minute later she felt Bellamy's calloused fingers combing delicately through her hair, brushing the blonde curls off her cheek and trailing his fingertips lightly along the curve of her neck. 

"Bellamy?" She murmured.

His voice was surprisingly breathy and deep as he answered-

 _"Yeah?_ "

"Did you only save me because you need my blood?"

There was a pause that lingered in the air.

"That was only part of it."

She yawned, mumbling. "Then what was the _other_ part?"

Another silence settled in, and Clarke could feel herself slipping further into sleep as her breath began to steady. So maybe the next part was just a dream, but she could swear she felt a hesitance in Bellamy's touch and an unmistakable tremble in his voice as he leaned down to whisper in her ear-

 

"I think you already know, Princess."

 

 

And with those simple words, she was finally lured away into the darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to review, wink, wink!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long time, right? I truly apologize, as I never intended it to be that long of wait for this chapter. The holidays have been so busy, and I've been dealing with a terminally-ill parent, and it's all just been kind of a whirlwind lately. But I promise you, I would never abandon my stories because they mean so much to me, and all of you mean so much to me as well!! Thank you for all of your encouraging messages asking me to keep writing, they've been very inspiring for me during a difficult time :)
> 
> So this chapter is pretty intense (I know I always say that..but yeah, this one is for sure!) Please leave a comment or a review and tell me what you think about it, I poured so much energy into this and any feedback from you would be absolutely incredible!! :)
> 
> Read on, and enjoy!!

"Think you can handle this, Princess?"

 

"Please, I've done far worse."

 

"I'm just saying, this isn't exactly finger paint were spreading on our bodies here."

 

"I already told you, I've done worse."

 

He paused, a devious smirk creeping across his lips. "I'm not gonna lie. That's kind of a turn-on."

 

Clarke scowled at Bellamy, and she would have probably even slapped him if she wasn't wrist-deep in a dead body at that very moment.

 

"How am I not surprised? This coming from the man who turned his cellmates into human pez-dispensers without even flinching."

 

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "I was saving your ass, I believe a simple  _thank you_ would suffice."

 

 

Clarke sighed, she  wasn't in the mood for the prisoner' antics this morning. Especially not when the rotting stench of corpse-blood was choking her senses, the bile churning in her stomach as the innards of some poor, forgotten soul was squishing between her fingers like red slime.

 

_My God.....what has her life come to?_

 

 

Rewind to three hours earlier when Clarke and Bellamy were trekking along the railroad tracks, the sweltering heat already burning their eyes as the cruel Louisiana sun was beating down on them in hot, pulsing waves. They had emerged from the safety of the barn a little past dawn, once again embarking on their harrowing journey towards the Ark Research Facility (basically so she could be made into a human vaccine).

 

As fate would have it, it was just she and Bellamy now. Clarke had been sentenced to wandering through this barren wasteland alone with the dangerous, unpredictable convict who set her nerves on fire in more ways than one.

And to top it all off,  the weather was nearly twice as perilous as the day before.

 

 _"Dammit,_ this sun's going to fucking kill us even before the infected can." Bellamy hissed.

 

Clarke shaded her eyes with her hand and peered down the endless stretch of railroad, her chest deflating in a heavy sigh. "I hate to say it, but I think you may be right." She winced, carefully grazing her fingers over the blood-stained gash along her kneecap. "Not to mention my leg isn't getting any better, it's hurting worse the longer I walk on it. I think that arrow tore through my meniscus cartilage."

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow at her. "The offer still stands, you know."

"I don't need you to carry me again. What I _need_ is to get off these damn railroad tracks. There has to be a better way to get there, preferably one that doesn't take another 5 days."

 Bellamy opened his mouth as if to say something, and then hesitated, clamping his lips shut again. 

But Clarke recognized that look, and she knew that it meant he was hiding something valuable from her. A strange feeling stirred inside her gut as she realized how easily she could read the prisoner's nuances, like he was becoming more real to her now, shifting slowly away from the abstract.

When Clarke first met Bellamy on that fateful day (only two days earlier) she painted him as little more than a soulless murderer, a man so dark and impenetrable that she would never so much as walk beside him, let alone lay her life in his hands. In her mind she likened him to Hades, with those black eyes that shone like death and that enticing stature of a demi-god, he was everything in this world that girls like her had been taught to run away from. An endless promise of sex and doom all wrapped up in one neat, deceptively charming (albeit downright-terrifying) package.

But maybe that's the thing about the apocalypse. Maybe you have to watch the world turn to ash and blood before you really begin to see people for who they really are. And as hard as it was to swallow for her, a surprisingly natural camaraderie was forming between she and Bellamy that she couldn't quite explain.

It first dawned on Clarke earlier that morning- when her eyelids fluttered open and she found her head still nestled in Bellamy's lap, his arm braced protectively across her stomach as he leaned back against the wall of the barn, still asleep. She couldn't help but wonder if he had stayed seated all that time, instead of laying down to sleep, just to make sure he wouldn't accidentally wake her.

And she couldn't quite shake the relieved look in the prisoner's eyes that morning when he'd finally woken to the sound of her voice, or the way his dark lashes fanned across his cheeks so innocently as he slept.

 

 

"You're hiding something." She accused him now, grabbing his arm to stop him on the tracks. Bellamy glanced down to where her fingers met his skin, and she pulled her hand away quickly. " _Tell me._ "

 

"For fuck's sake, calm down." He sighed, running his hand through his knotted mop of curls. "I know I'm going regret telling you this... but I actually know a shortcut to the lab." 

 

She balked at him. "Are you kidding me!? How could you not tell me this earlier?"

 

Bellamy shot her a severe look, his dark eyes warning her. "Because it's practically _suicide_ , that's why. We'd have to cut right through the southern corridor to get there. It's an old industrial farmland where the cannibals made their campground, my cellmates and I walked it's borders a few days ago on our way to finding you."

Clarke nodded slowly, thinking this through.

"But wait-" She remembered, "Didn't you kill the rest of the cannibals when they attacked us yesterday?" An image flashed in her mind then, picturing the prisoner guarding her unconscious body, his fury raining down like hell fire on the unsuspecting cannibals as he riddled their bodies with bullets and slashed their throats. _Filthy fucking animals,_ he'd called them, and she could still imagine the way his eyes burned with rage.

 

A shudder ran through her at the thought.

 

"I _did_ slaughter the last of them." Bellamy said coolly, as if it was nothing to take down an army of savages single-handedly. "But that's not the problem. The cannibals guarded their camp with the infected, so the farm is basically over-run by a wall of zombies at this point. We'd be eaten alive within minutes-"

 

Clarke raised a hand to silence him, because she was already hatching a plan. A cunning grin crept across her lips as an old theory from long ago echoed in her brain.  " _I_ can get us through that farm." 

 

Bellamy scoffed, folding his arms against his chest. "And how exactly are you planning to do that, Princess? Are you going to magically make us  _invisible_?"

 

Her blue eyes glistened with invention, and she met his gaze dead-on.

 

"Precisely."

 

 

 

_Fast forward to three hours later- when Bellamy and Clarke are now standing over the rotting, sliced-open body of a dead traveler they had luckily happened upon less than a mile from the southern corridor _(Clarke had determined that sun-stroke was the likely cause of the man's death, as he was fairly fresh and still untouched)__

 

Bellamy swallowed down a wave of nausea as he dipped his hand into the lining of the dead man's stomach, coating his entire forearm with blood and smearing it down his own shoulder in thick, red streaks.

"Please remind me why we're doing this, again?"

 

She rolled her eyes, her own pale skin was already half-painted in corpse guts by the time she glanced up at Bellamy, giving him with a withering look. "How many times do we have to go over this?" She peeled a string of intestine off her skin and dropped it back on the dead body. "Look, the theory is pretty simple. The infected are drawn to the living simply because of our smell. We smell  _alive_ to them, and that's what sends them into a feeding frenzy. They almost never go after people who are already dead. So by smearing the blood of this dead man on our skin, we're not only disguising ourselves to look like the zombies, but we're also giving off the odor of death. The  _death_ odor should mask the  _live_ odor pretty well, so theoretically they will assume that we are zombies too, and they won't pay us any attention."

Bellamy gave her a cagey look, still less than convinced as he reluctantly slopped another handful of blood on his neck and began rubbing it in. "Well this shit certainly reeks enough, that's for damn sure."

"Well, _yeah,_  that's exactly what we want though. The more pungent, the better. " She wrinkled her nose, and then her eyes suddenly moved to Bellamy's shirtless body, quietly assessing his handiwork. "You'll need a lot more blood on your stomach and chest, especially since you have so much exposed skin."

He grunted. "Thanks but no thanks. I think I have enough."

 

 _Unbelievable,_ Clarke thought. Of all the times to get squeamish at the sight of blood. But then again- even for somebody like her who'd studied medicine and human anatomy, it felt utterly despicable to spread the rotting remains of another human being on your own body.

But such was the cost of survival.

" _Fine_ , then I'll just do it for you." Clarke steeled herself against the smell of death assaulting her nostrils as she scooped up another handful of blood from the corpse and stepped directly in front of Bellamy, slapping it on his chest with more force than necessary.

Bellamy flinched slightly as the sea of red ooze cascaded down his front, but he stood his ground- eyes narrowing on the tiny blonde in front of him.

"This better fucking work."

Clarke batted her lashes, "Is the big, bad murderer afraid of a little blood?" She teased, starting to thoroughly smear the blood along the cleaner patches of Bellamy's skin. "Not so tough _now_ , are you?"

He tilted his chin down, glaring at her. "You're enjoying this a little too much, Princess. I think you're even more twisted than I am."

For her own sense of sanity, Clarke chose to ignore the prisoner's words- only focusing on the way his smooth, golden skin was disappearing into a deep shade of red beneath her palms. The blood was hot and sticky, and slick like crude oil as she glided her hands along the broad plains of his chest, and as it soaked in she could suddenly feel the warmth radiating from Bellamy's skin, his quickly elevating pulse thrumming under her fingertips. 

"Clarke..." he warned.

Her own heart was beating a little faster now, and only at the sound of Bellamy's voice did she fully realize the intimacy of what she was doing. But still- she couldn't seem to convince herself to stop. Her bloody fingers carefully slid down to trace along the dips and the curves of his muscular stomach, now moving without purpose as every inch of him was already coated with blood- and yet she kept going. Her eyes followed the every motion of her fingers as if in a trance, mesmerized at the tiny swirls of red she was painting along his abs now, transforming the ferocious man before her into a beautiful human canvas that was all her own...

 _"Clarke._ " The prisoner urged again, his voice more hoarse than before. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath as Clarke's rogue finger trailed even lower on his stomach, and then her hand suddenly stilled against him.

She slowly looked up to meet his gaze, and a frightening shiver ran through her body at the sight of Bellamy's dark, heated eyes watching her so intensely, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he stared down at her in a stunned silence. Then his head tilted to the side and his expression turned almost fascinated, and she didn't miss the way his dark eyes flickered down to her lips as he instinctively licked his own.

She blinked, and the heat rising in her cheeks was a startling wake-up call for her brain. What the hell was wrong with her? To just feel him up like that, so mindlessly? She was completely baffled by her own lack of self-control, her own senseless urge to just keep  _touching_ him....

"I, uhh...I mean I was just.."Clarke stuttered stupidly, trying to regain some shred of composure. But her brain was all muddled with Bellamy's blood-covered body standing so close to hers, the rugged scent of his breath practically mingling with her own. Then the prisoner's lips tugged up into that taunting, familiar smirk of his that set her nerves on fire, and he raised his eyebrow expectantly.

_Oh God. He was waiting for an explanation._

"I, uhh.." Clarke cleared her throat and started to back away, watching his grin falter slightly as she did so. "I'm sorry. I think I must have dazed off a bit, probably from the heat." She squared her shoulders to be a bit more convincing, looking him straight in the eye this time. "Actually I'm confident that's all that was, nothing more than a little heat-induced confusion. I promise it won't happen again."

A silence hung between them as Bellamy's face slowly began to fall, his playful grin melting away and his dark gaze growing harder and more callous with every word she spoke.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Princess."

But there was a flicker of something that flashed behind his eyes just before he abruptly turned away from her, something that- like so many things about the prisoner- wasn't meant to be seen. But Clarke couldn't help but think that it looked a lot like  _disappointment,_ and her mind instantly jumped back to their heated argument in front of the old house in the woods, remembering the way Bellamy accused her of being a coward.

She shook the thought away.

 

"Let's pack up and head out." Bellamy said sharply, searching the dead man's body for any useful weapons. His eyes didn't even brighten as he pulled a small revolver from the corpse's pocket and tucked it into his own waistband, finally glancing up at her.  "We're clearly done here."

 

_\--------------------------_

 

 

The southern corridor was less than a mile's trek away, and by the time they reached it Clarke's shaky stride had transformed into a weak hobble, her knee becoming increasingly difficult to bend with every step.

She could tell they were approaching the threshold to the cannibal's campground even before Bellamy pointed it out, as a break in the dense woods opened up to a vast expanse of overgrown fields on a hillside, the dried out remains of wheat and corn husks crumbling in the blistering sun. Near the base of the hill was a flat stretch of land inhabited by the old, peeling barns and vacant animal stables that were long since forsaken. The grounds were littered with rusted tractors, crop-spraying machines, and combine harvesters that hadn't been touched for over a year, and towering above it all were the empty shells of several milk towers that rose nearly three stories high.

Bellamy and Clarke were now standing on the dirt path that ran directly through the middle of the abandoned industrial farm, and the bare skeleton of a massive irrigation system stretched along the border of the crop fields, it's giant metal arms seeming to reach out for miles on end. Clarke didn't have much time to survey the land before the stench of rotting flesh began stinging at her nostrils again, and her eyes caught sight of the very immediate danger that lie ahead of them.

"Wow..." Clarke muttered. "You weren't kidding. I've never seen so many zombies in one place before, they're literally  _everywhere."_ _  
_

"Tell me about it." Bellamy huffed, and he gestured towards a long trail of telephone poles that lined the pathway. On the wires between every pole was an endless amount of human carcasses strung-up and dangling effortlessly in the summer wind. Surrounding the poles just below them, was a mob of hungry, teeth gnashing zombies wandering in herds along the borders of the farm.

The longer Clarke looked at the nightmarish scene before her, the more suicidal her plan was starting to feel.

"My God.." Clarke gasped. "Those cannibals may have been savages, but they were frickin' geniuses. It looks like they hung up some of their victims along the borders in order to attract throngs of the infected, essentially creating a wall of zombies to keep outsiders away from their camp."

A wary chuckle rumbled through Bellamy's chest and the two of them turned to face one another, their bodies still painted red and dripping with globs of blood. Clarke was distracted for a moment by the way the blood crept up along the prisoner's jaw line, and the stains of red that smudged along his tan face as he dragged his fingers through his shaggy hair.

"So the plan here is to just  _pretend_ we're zombies? Just walk right through that crowd without being touched?"

Clarke nodded slowly, swallowing down a lump in her throat. "Well we have to make it convincing. Study their movements and the way they walk, mimic the zombies as best you can. Also, try not to look any of them in the eyes either, and definitely DO NOT talk. If we do all that, then we should make it through." But Clarke's confidence in her own plan was beginning to weaken, and her thinly veiled fear was seeping into her voice as her words began to stutter. "I'm... I'm sure of it."

Bellamy raised his eyebrow suspiciously, and the wrinkles in his forehead and the tightness of his lips told her that he wasn't nearly as convinced as she was. In fact, she felt certain that he was about to back out and tell her she was absolutely insane to expect him to trust her, to just follow her blindly into this grisly fly-trap of death.

And honestly, she wouldn't have even blamed him.

 

But then Bellamy sighed, looking Clarke straight in the eye and giving her a brisk nod. "If this fails and I get turned into a zombie, you're the first person I'm eating."

Her mouth stretched into a smile, and a tiny relief flooded her chest at the thought that she wouldn't be doing this alone. 

"Well you'd probably catch me easy enough, I can barely walk straight as it is."

He half-smirked at her. "You definitely have that zombie limp down already. Just never forget that I always offered to carry you, Princess."

"I won't forget." She whispered, and something stung inside her heart as she realized that this was his way of saying goodbye, should something happen to them. She looked at him more seriously, "Bellamy, we have to survive this. But if something bad happens to me, then you have to promise that you'll leave me behind and save yourself." _  
_

Bellamy narrowed his eyes stubbornly at her, but before he could open his mouth to protest, Clarke reached into the back pocket of her jean shorts and pulled out a small glass vial, holding it out in front of her.

"Take this."

The prisoner carefully plucked the small tube from her fingers, eyeing the tiny pool of blood floating inside.

"What the fuck is this, Clarke?"

"It's a sample of my blood. I found that vial under one of the cupboards in the house, and I filled it before we left yesterday. I need you to deliver that sample to the lab if I don't make it. It's a long shot that it will even work, but it's better than nothing." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But in the event that I should die, I need to at least know that there's still a chance for others to live with a cure, and maybe that this wasn't all in vain." _  
_

Bellamy just stared at the vial silently, slowly rolling it between his fingers as he considered her words. She could see something in his eyes that felt hesitant, but it disappeared quickly as he tucked the vial into his pocket.

"Fine." He rumbled. "I'll do it...for you."

"For the  _world."_ Clarke reminded him. _  
_

He looked up to meet her gaze. "For _you."_

 

 

A minute later Bellamy and Clarke were ducking under an old wrought-iron fence, and Clarke allowed herself a final hiss at the pain in her knee as they crossed the threshold into the farm. Stealing one last glance at each other, they both steeled themselves and headed straight into the rustling herd of zombies.

Their hair was mussed and dirty, the blood of a dead man was splattered and smeared over their tattered clothes and burnt skin, they dragged their feet and mimicked the jerky, unnatural movements of the infected- and  _my god_ if they weren't spitting images of the zombies surrounding them (minus the peeling skin and white eyes, of course).

At first Bellamy and Clarke could nearly hear their hearts beating in perfect unison as the walking dead shuffled around them in aimless droves, hissing and moaning and snarling and making every other horrible sound that would forever be etched into Clarke's brain. The decaying creatures limped past them blindly, occasionally lifting their noses to sniff curiously at the newcomers- making Clarke's breath hitch in her chest and Bellamy tense beside her, before the creature would lose interest and move on. With each close encounter she was becoming more confident in their disguises, and she and Bellamy had wordlessly worked out a system where she would lean against his arm to signal that they should weave to the left, and Bellamy would lean against hers to weave to the right- staying side by side as they moved quietly among the legions of dead.

Clarke swayed unsteadily on her feet and kept her head bent towards the ground, doing everything she could to swallow down her terror and lean away from the ghastly, brown strings of drool dripping out of the zombies' rotting jaws. She cast her eyes down to avoid the lifeless, murky eyes that were slowly turning in their direction every time they shuffled past.

The minutes dragged by painfully as their ears filled with the torturous sounds of death, the bristle of bones and the rustle of bloody, tattered fabrics- and somewhere in the back of her mind an old bedtime song that her father used to sing echoed in Clarke's ears, and for a moment it gave her a quiet reprieve away from the nightmare that surrounded her. She focused on the memory of her father's soft, lilting voice- letting it drown everything else out as they moved nearly two thirds of the way through the farm.

Then Clarke raised her head by a fraction and immediately wished she hadn't, because her eyes met with the hollow remains of a little girl in a faded pink dress. She couldn't have been older than five when she was turned, her blonde hair was falling out in tufts and her skin was withering away as she gnawed tirelessly on her knuckles, reminding Clarke of the way a living child would suck their thumb for comfort. It hit her then, the feeling of dread and sorrow that washed over Clarke for these creatures who had once been so much like real people, and her heart wrenched as her eyes flitted down to the ratty teddy bear that the zombie-child was still clutching in her bony little hands...

She thought she might really crack then. She thought she might finally collapse in a heap of uncontrollable tears and screams and just let these zombies end this horrible world for her, here and now. But she was woken from her anxieties a second later when she felt Bellamy's hand brushing lightly against her own, as if he could sense the change in her, and was reminding Clarke that she wasn't alone in this. Then she felt his finger gently curl around hers, and it told her that whatever despair she was feeling now- that he felt it too.

They had to quickly break their hands apart and keep their faces turned away, so as not to look suspicious. But that tiny morsel of confidence that Bellamy had granted her was enough to carry her through the next several minutes, and before they both knew it they had nearly made it to the other side of the farm untouched.

She could see the fence on the other side up ahead, just behind one of the wheat silos that hovered in the distance, and her heart nearly lept for joy as they moved towards it.

But her senses fine-tuned when she realized that one of the female zombies was staggering up beside Clarke a little too close, it's decaying nose tracing over her shoulder and her neck as it sniffed her a little longer than the others had. Every muscle in Clarke's body went rigid as she carefully leaned away from the creature, and suddenly all she could see were it's corroding teeth as it opened it's jaws wide and let out a throat-gurgling cry, leaping straight towards her. 

It all happened so fast. The zombie's teeth were milliseconds away from sinking into Clarke's carotid artery when Bellamy's blade came crashing down and the creature's head fell away. Then Bellamy was wrapping his hand around hers and yanking her forward with all his strength, and she drew her machete as Bellamy pulled out the dead man's revolver and they bulldozed through the crowd of zombies like a whirlwind of swinging blades and firing bullets, the zombies literally exploding and falling into pieces at their feet.

She screamed in pain as she ran on her wounded leg with Bellamy dragging her alongside him, only to see a new herd of zombies rounding on them from the other side, and she knew there was no way in hell they would ever make it to the fence in time. Bellamy made the split second decision to pull her in the direction of the abandoned wheat silo, and they just barely reached the the giant metal door in time to lurch it open and slam it behind them with an ear-shattering thud.

Once inside, Clarke slumped against the cold wall as her knees buckled beneath her. Bellamy frantically searched every inch of the hollow, circular room until he was certain it was free of any infected, and then they both stood panting together in the oppressive silence, the sound of their gasping breaths filling the darkness.

"Fuck!" He hissed, clawing his fingers through his hair. "We're fucking trapped." He unceremoniously let his blade drop to the ground as he crouched on his knees in the middle of the floor, resting his face in his palms. "We have to wait it out for awhile." 

Clarke opened her mouth to speak- when suddenly a loud thrashing against the door made both she and Bellamy spring back to their feet in unison, and the walls of the silo began rattling with the heavy pounding and sharp clawing of the undead.  

"Oh no." She breathed. "They're trying to get inside..." They watched as the door rattled violently, the rusted hinges starting to bend under the weight of the mob beating against it.

And in that moment Clarke knew exactly what she had to do. 

"Do you have the vial?"

The prisoner whirled around to face her, and he looked more unhinged than she'd ever thought possible for a man that was usually so fearless. His dark eyes were wild as his chest heaved, and he reached down to confirm that the tiny vial was still in his pocket.

"Good." She said firmly, and then she took her blade and brutally sliced open the wound on her knee, biting back a scream. The blood began pouring out of her leg and puddling to the ground below her as she slumped back down, landing on the floor with a heavy thud. In an instant Bellamy was kneeling beside her, trying to catch her fall but reaching her a moment too late. He leaned his palms on the ground in front of her, and then he quickly lifted them back up to see his hands now covered in Clarke's blood, and his jaw fell open horror.

"No!" He screamed, grabbing her face between his hands. "Why did you cut yourself?!"

Clarke gasped through the pain, wincing. "Because I'm making myself a distraction, that's why. We don't have any time left. They're going to come bursting through that door any minute, and we need them to smell my blood and attack _me_ first, that way you can hide behind the door and wait for the best time to run out."

Bellamy was shaking his head as if he refused to hear her, frantically ripping a strip off of Clarke's shirt and trying to tie it around her knee with shaking fingers- but it was useless because the blood just kept seeping through. He growled in frustration, throwing the cloth to the side. Another loud pounding rang out against the door and he dragged his fingers through his curls again, Clarke's blood dripping down his forehead.

"Bellamy." She said calmly, touching the side of his face to steer his eyes back to hers. "With my leg being injured, I would have never made it out of this room alive. You know that."

"But I could still  _carry_ you."  He ground out, sounding almost furious. "I can't just fucking leave you..."

 She shook her head softly, because they both knew that him carrying her meant certain death for the both of them. "You have no other choice. You need to take your best chance of surviving and deliver my blood to the lab, it's the only chance we all have for a cure. And Bellamy- think about your  _sister."_

The prisoner's gaze filled with sorrow, and she could feel the way his strong, calloused hands trembled as they came up to cradle her face once more. Her heart was sinking in her chest as she watched Bellamy's dark eyes tracing the curves of her features, as if trying to burn them into his memory forever.

And Clarke took this time to memorize the way his eyelashes gathered with tears, and the innocent splash of freckles across the prisoner's nose.

 

"I wish-" Bellamy's deep voice cracked in his throat. "I wish I had more time with you."

 

Clarke's sobs were choking in her airway, a single tear rolling down her cheek, and he caught it gently with his thumb.

 

"Me too." She breathed. "But right now you need to get behind that door."

 

The clawing and the rattling behind the silo door was growing louder and more piercing with every minute, and Bellamy's hands finally slid away from Clarke's face as he stood back up and gathered his weapons. He walked the ten foot distance towards the door, holding tightly to his blade as he positioned himself.

Clarke's eyelids slid shut as she remembered back to the first time she saw Bellamy clutching his machete, when his eyes were heartless and cruel and she was certain he was about to end her life with the strike of that very blade. But now she saw somebody completely different inside the mysterious prisoner, and he had become nothing short of a miracle for her in her final days. He was one last person to truly believe in her the way her father had, and remind her that all hope was not lost in this world after all.

 

And after everything, she hoped that he would also forgive her when he realized the vial didn't work (not that she could be totally sure, but she knew that the chances were very slim of stagnant blood being able to produce the right anti-bodies) But she needed a way to make sure Bellamy fought hard to survive, and didn't give up. And she knew her mother would have compassion on the man who traveled with her only daughter, and would take him in as her own. She hoped that maybe they could all one day rebuild society together, and maybe even find a different cure that would save his sister. (She knew that all of this was far-fetched, but just the thought of Bellamy surviving was enough to make her smile).

She could feel the strength leaving her limbs as the pool of her blood edged up along her feet, and she let out a heavy sigh as she drowned out the pounding and the hissing that were the sounds of death coming for her, barely locked behind a metal barrier that was slowly breaking away.

Truth be told, Clarke was absolutely terrified. She knew she was about to die once and for all, and after everything she'd been through- she would be dying alone and cold on a forgotten silo floor, with only the memories of Bellamy's voice carrying her through.

 

But in the next moment, she suddenly felt a warm body sitting on the ground beside her as her eyes cracked open, and then Bellamy was gathering her up in his lap.

"Bellamy?! What-"

He silenced her by wrapping his arms around her body, holding her flush against his bare chest and whispering in her ear- "I changed my mind Princess. Let the world save itself this time, because I'm staying right here with _you_."

Clarke's heart stopped. She lifted her head to meet the prisoner's gaze, face to face, and she could read his eyes so easily now. As if they were her own.

"You guessed the vial wouldn't work, didn't you?" She accused him.

Bellamy nodded slowly, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Nice try, Princess."

 

And then Clarke abandoned the last of her strength, and she collapsed into the prisoner completely. She buried her face in his neck as a river of her tears streamed their way down the front of his chest, and she cried because they were both about to die- and yet she also cried because she wouldn't have to go through this terrible end alone. After everything they'd been through together, she was finally going to die in the solitude of Bellamy's arms.

 

The banging and the clawing and the breaking of hinges echoed violently all around them, but Clarke couldn't hear any of it. Instead, all she could hear was Bellamy's calming words whispering gently in her ear, telling her that everything would be okay as he hugged her tighter against him...

 

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the end to come.

 

 

Only it didn't. 

 

Because a minute later, a deafening noise pealed through the air. The earth shook beneath their bodies as they both rocked backwards, and for a moment the world was still and quiet- aside from a sharp ringing sound that pierced their ear drums.

Bellamy and Clarke both sat up slowly, stunned, because they were now staring at a massive steaming hole that had been blasted into the side of the silo. The exploded bits of zombies were scattered all about at the entrance, and stepping out from the midst of the rubble was none other than Monty himself, smiling proudly at the aftermath of his military-rationed grenade.

 

\-----------------------------

 

Clarke didn't remember much after that. She had grown faint due to her blood loss, but all she knew was that Bellamy was carrying her once again. And sometime later her eyes drifted open as the prisoner smiled against her hair, urging her to look up.

She weakly raised her head to see a rusted, metal sign that read:

 

"ARK RESEARCH FACILITY."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked it! I have one more chapter left with this (it will be a long one) so please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts or predictions!!


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